Once a Victor, Never a Winner
by alatariel-gildaen
Summary: There is no uprising. Just two victors from the 74th Annual Hunger Games. But what have they really won? Did they ever truly escape the games? How will they cope as mentors in the 3rd Quarter Quell? Peeta learns the hard way what it truly means to be a victor. Adult themes will ensue. Rated for sexual content (both con and non-con) and violence.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N – This is a very dark and angsty story. All told from Peeta's POV. If you are looking for a happy ending, you've probably come to the wrong place.**

**I'm not Suzanne Collins, I don't own the Hunger Games, and I'm not making any money etc.**

**Please let me know what you think!**

* * *

I smell the burning embers as the girl by the fire bleeds out. I never knew her name. I want to offer some kind of token condolence, as pointless as it may be, but with the Careers not far away that is impossible. I watch her, frozen to the spot, horrified, as she dies her lonely death and I await the canon fire that heralds her exit from the Games. But all I am aware of is the smell of burning. It doesn't smell like regular wood smoke… It smells like… bread. Burning bread. How strange….

I shake my head and am back in the present. The smell of the fire… It was this morning's loaves getting overcooked in the oven. I rush over to remove them, opening the oven door as dark smoke billows out. 12 loaves, all with a blackened crust stare back at me. These aren't salvageable for the shop, although I am sure Katniss will help me distribute them amongst the Seam kids. Mother will be furious of course, even though this will have no financial impact on us any more. I can worry about that later.

Forcing away the image of the girl from District 8 who died that night by the fire, I allow myself a small bittersweet smile. Katniss. To the Capitol we are still a couple hopelessly in love. For my part, this is truth. For her part…. Who knows what is there? Before our Victory Tour we were advised very strongly by Haymitch to keep up the pretence. There were whispers of dissent in other districts and keeping up the image of the two 'Star Crossed Lovers' may help to quell any further uprisings. If they can see our love wasn't staged, maybe they can be calmed…. We received vague threats that our families would be in danger if we didn't put a stop to the dissent. Katniss played her part very well and since returning from the tour we have had no more threats. I just wish I could reach out to her more. There are nights when she'll come to me, unable to sleep because of nightmares and I am so glad I can offer her comfort in those dark times. I just wish….. I wish it could be more. Our wedding will take place as planned by the Capitol, but it will be just as fake as everything else that comes from that hateful place. Maybe one day she will grow to…. Accept me? Painful thought. I want more. But I know that no matter what happens, I will always be there for her. I will always protect her.

I gather the burned loaves into a basket, but before setting out I take two un-iced cookies from the trays destined for the bakery. It takes but a few minutes work to transform them – one iced with a flower with five delicate yellow petals. This for Prim. One with three larger white petals, surrounding a deep purple centre. Katniss. She'll probably give it away to one of the poorer children and the thought makes me love her more.

Much as I wish our love could be real, and personal, tomorrow we will be back in each other's arms for the benefit of all citizens in Panem. Tomorrow we are being escorted back to the Capitol for the announcement of the third Quarter Quell. The previous victors will be interviewed for our reactions and alleged 'excitement' at this new means of keeping Panem's citizens under control. It's easy to appear in love for the benefit of the camera, but pretending to be excited at whatever torture gets thrown at ordinary citizens? This will require something else. A lot of focus is bound to be on District 12. With Katniss and myself being so fresh in everyone's minds, and Haymitch being the only surviving victor of a previous Quell, we are sure to be the talk of the town. Everyone will want a piece of us.

* * *

I stand on the threshold of her home and pause before knocking. Although we spend many nights together to keep the nightmares at bay, there are still days when she ignores me entirely. I never know what kind of a reception I will receive from her, but I hope she will accept me today. Our last day before we return to the Capitol. Taking a deep breath and working up the courage, I knock three times at the door. It is young Prim who opens the door, full of energy and always pleased to see me. "Peeta!" she exclaims, throwing herself forward and wrapping her tiny arms around me. I return the hug, ruffle her hair and as she extricates herself I slip the primrose decorated cookie into her hands. Her face lights up with pure joy. "Oh, Peeta! Thank you!" she cries, examining her prize.

"Is Katniss home?" I ask, ever hopeful. It is still early. I may be able to catch her before she sneaks off to the woods.

"Kat!" she calls out, absorbed in her gift, "Kat, look what Peeta brought!"

I look up and there she is. She had descended from upstairs as silently as the first flakes of snow in winter. My heart starts to beat a little faster and my breath catches slightly, the way it does every time I see her. I offer a small smile, but she avoids my eyes, and turns to Prim instead. It might be a difficult day after all.

Prim looks awkwardly between the two of us and makes an excuse about going to look for Buttercup. In reality she is affording us some time alone. The silence between us is not a comfortable one. After what feels like an age of her avoiding my eyes I break the silence.

"I thought you might like to help me today," I say, indicating the basket of burnt loaves. She sighs and walks forwards. Her gaze immediately rests upon the second iced cookie I had brought round. "What's wrong with this one?" she asks, picking it up with another sigh.

"Nothing's wrong with it. It's perfect."

Her eyes flash. "What am I supposed to do with this, Peeta?" she asks, her voice full of mistrust.

My turn to sigh. "Whatever you want, Katniss. It's yours."

She carelessly tosses it back in the basket, her attention turning to the burnt loaves. "Your mother won't be happy with you."

"Well, at least I'll only have to put up with her anger for another day," I reply, trying to add a little humour to my voice.

She smiles a tight, humourless smile grabs a coat and walks straight past me. "Are you coming?" she calls back.

I smile to myself and turn on my heels to follow her.

We walk together in silence but the silence feels more comfortable when we have purpose. Distributing these loaves to the poorer areas in town is technically illegal, but no one pays us any mind at all. As I predicted earlier, Katniss gives her cookie to a young girl from the seam who looks to be about 12. Clearly the girl reminds her of her sister. She gratefully accepts it as if this is the first and only gift she has seen in her life. It probably is.

We hand the final loaf to a family of seven, a father being the sole provider for six hungry mouths. I look at each of those children and a terrible thought comes to me. While we may have escaped the deadly reach of the Capitol, none of these children have. The Quell will be announced over the next few days, and the lives of at least two children, and of course their families, will be torn apart. Who knows what horrors will await them?

I look at Katniss and can see her thoughts are echoing mine, compounded of course by the fact that her sister's name will still be in the reaping balls. The Mellarks are lucky – we escaped the Capitol's deadly games relatively unscathed. But the Everdeens may still lose a loved one, just like any one of these families. Katniss has frozen to the spot. I reach out and take her hand and she accepts without protest as we slowly make our way back to the Victor's Village.

As we walk up the long pathway to our new homes, she stops abruptly. "I don't think I can do it, Peeta," she says.

"Do what?" I ask gently.

"Mentor these kids," she replies, the emotion in her voice bubbling over. "Watch child after child after child die. Know that I'm in part responsible if I can't get help for them. I can't do it." She starts to tremble and shake. I take her in my arms and hold her close to me until I feel her breath starting to steady. "We'll do it together. We'll help them and we'll bring them home," I say.

"We can't!" she cries, "Only one! We can only save one! They won't let two escape again, everyone will be trying it but they won't allow it!"

She's right of course, but I don't say anything. I just hold her close to me. I could spend forever with her in my arms. She is my solace. Haymitch turned to the bottle to escape the realities the Capitol forced upon him. I don't blame him for a second. At least we have each other for comfort. Whether we one day become the lovers the Capitol believes us to be - the lovers I hoped we would be – or not, we can always find comfort in each other's arms.

Who knows how long we are stood together before our reverie is shaken by a screech coming from my home. "PEETA MELLARK! WHERE ARE YOU, BOY?" Mother has discovered the missing goods. I brush a few strands of hair from Katniss's face, and wipe the wetness from her cheeks with my thumbs. "Better go home and face the music."

She smiles for the first time today, a sad, bittersweet smile, but a genuine one nonetheless. My heart lifts at the sight. I kiss her forehead and break apart our embrace. "Peeta?" she calls after me. I turn to her. "I don't think I can be alone tonight." I nod my understanding and promise I will see her later. Nothing will keep us apart.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N - Thanks for reading! Please leave a review if you like what you read. My muse is an egotistical whore. Anyways, a slightly mushy chapter coming your way. Things will take a turn for the darker soon.**

* * *

I don't pay much attention to the tirade escaping mother's mouth. My thoughts are elsewhere, as they always are, on the girl I live so close to but only ever want to be closer to. Certain words break through though…. "daydreamer…. lazy …. clutz…..head in the clouds…. never amount to anything…." I feel the need to point out that I am a victor and it's thanks to me that she now lives in such plush surroundings and receive a swift clip to the ear for my cheek. "Good thing you made a successful murderer then. I hope you're proud."

That stung deeply. For one I never actually killed anyone. Not intentionally, at least. "Would you have preferred me to not come home?" I ask quietly. She mumbles a half hearted apology. _Of course she's happier with me home_, I think. _At least that way she gets to live here in luxury._

I can't stand being in this kitchen another moment. As I stand up to leave my mother demands to know where I am going. "Where do you think?" I reply.

"She's no good for you, that girl! She'll break your heart, you mark my words! Nothing but trouble, those Everdeens."

I don't even spare her a second glance as I stride out the front door. She can't possibly understand the connection that Katniss and I share. Our experiences together…. No one could possibly understand what we went through. I need her, and she needs me. Maybe she doesn't have the same longing for more, maybe she never will… But we need each other and that's enough for now.

I don't bother to knock when I arrive at Katniss's home, as I know she is expecting me. She is sat around the kitchen table with her mother and sister and has quite clearly been crying. Her mother graciously offers me tea which I gratefully accept.

We manage to extricate ourselves from the family unit by explaining that we are going to work on the family book alone. Katniss explains I work better when it's just the two of us, and although I feel her mother's watchful gaze upon us she allows us to be alone unsupervised.

For hours we sit together, Katniss describing the plants and me sketching them, redoing every last detail until they are perfect. It is dark when Katniss's mother comes to tell us how late it is, and how I should be going home. I bid my farewells to the Everdeens, with the promise of seeing Katniss in the morning.

We have a routine perfected now for the nights we have planned in advance to spend together. I will say goodnight and head home, and under the cover of darkness she will come to me. I leave the back door unlocked and when it is clear everyone is in bed and asleep she will come to mine on her silent feet and together we can defeat whatever horrors the night will throw at us.

I lay in bed for what feels like hours until my bedroom door opens just a crack and she slips through. Without saying a word she shrugs off her outer clothes and climbs in to bed next to me. She rests her head on my chest and I envelop her in my arms and together we are able to sleep without being plagued by fear.

* * *

I wake up as the first light of dawn falls through my bedroom window. Katniss has barely moved since she entered my room last night, and much as I hate to disturb her she will need to leave before she is missed. I gently squeeze her shoulders and whisper her name. "Katniss?" No reaction. "Katniss?" I whisper again, using my free arm to push some of her hair back from her face. Very slowly her eyes flicker open. "Already?" she whispers back, disappointment evident in her face. "Five more minutes…." she protests, settling her head back down on my chest. I can't deny her, not when she looks so peaceful. Besides, I'm too comfortable myself. I close my eyes for just a moment, and when I open them again just moments later I can tell too much time has passed. The sun is too bright, and I can hear movement downstairs. My father is already up, preparing this morning's bread. I curse inwardly, but we have been in this situation before. I gently rouse Katniss from sleep again and she can tell immediately what has happened. Her eyes fly open and in seconds she has gathered her clothes and pulled them on. I open my bedroom door a crack and peer through. No one else is about that I can see. Katniss opens my bedroom window, takes a deep breath of the morning air to clear the fogginess from her head, and easily jumps to the branch of a nearby oak tree. She makes her way along the branch as I shut my window and make my way downstairs.

"Morning, son!" I hear my father call cheerily from the kitchen. "Hey, dad," I respond yawning. With my father's attention diverted and his back now turned from the kitchen window I see over his shoulder that Katniss has dropped from the tree and is swiftly crossing to her own home. Now she just has to hope she can sneak inside without being caught, or at least create a good excuse if she is. "Sleep well?" asks my father innocently, but I swear I see the flicker of a knowing smile pass over his lips.

I've never been able to get much past him. I guess we're just too similar to have secrets from each other. But I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing he's right that easily. "I was out like a light," I reply. "You?"

"Kept thinking I heard movement down here. Must have been my imagination." That knowing smile is still there. He cuts me a slice of bread and spreads it with butter and jam. I sit and savour the morning's breakfast, my last here for at least a week. Whenever the Capitol sees fit to release us back to our everyday lives. "I know it's early," my father says, "and no one but a lowly baker would possibly be awake at such an hour, but would you mind dropping these cheese rolls off at Mrs Everdeen's? I don't have time myself," he finishes lightly, winking at the same time. I grin a little sheepishly and gather the rolls, while at the same time receiving a hearty pat on the back from him.

I'm out the front door in next to no time at all, and can hear my father chuckling to himself as I go. It doesn't matter that we've only just left each other's company; I will take any and every excuse I can to be with her. Besides, in just a couple of short hours Effie Trinket will arrive from the Capitol to escort us back and we will be back under the watchful gaze of all of Panem. I want to make the most of our last two hours of reality before being back in the land of gory make believe.

I knock gently on her front door. Katniss answers almost immediately and says in a hushed voice, "Peeta, what are you-?"

I hold up the basket of rolls and answer, perfectly innocently. "Dad wanted me to bring these to you."

She rolls her eyes and steps back, allowing me entry. Her mother is already awake. "Peeta! Another early riser, I see? Katniss has already been in to town and back." There is none of the knowing geniality in her voice that my father had. More of a probe to make sure there has been no impropriety.

"Same as every morning, Mrs Everdeen! No rest for the wicked, and the bread won't bake itself."

"Quite. Well, you two had best prepare yourselves for today. I don't want to hold you up in your duties, Peeta."

I don't have much of a choice but to tell Katniss I will see her on the train. Her mother is not being unkind – I think she worries that the Capitol is forcing us together against her daughter's will. I want Katniss to want me too, but it has to be her choice. I can't blame her mother for being protective.

Dark thoughts invade my mind, as they so often do when I am left alone. Memories of blood, and screams, and death, and teeth. I shake my head to clear it of those unwanted and unbidden thoughts, trying to replace them with memories of Katniss. As I slowly make my way back home, storm clouds begin to gather overhead. I almost laugh at the pathetic fallacy. Almost.

* * *

For the last couple of weeks Haymitch has secluded himself away. I can't say I blame him – the memories of his own Quell are bound to be near the surface, and we can't expect a man used to a lifetime of solitude to suddenly become a social butterfly just because two families have moved close to his home.

But seeing him on the train, drunker than I have ever seen him is still something of a shock. Effie is, to say the least, unimpressed.

"At least you two have a sense of decorum!" She squeaks in utter disgust, as Haymitch, reeking of an unpleasant mix of alcohol and vomit, slides to the floor and is dead to the world. "He needs to be sober by the time we get to the Capitol, or else I don't know what I'll do!" She totters away on immensely high heels, her powder blue wig wobbling dangerously.

I take a deep breath. "I'll do the honours," I say, picking him up in a fireman's lift. If I can at least get him clean maybe Effie won't kill us all for showing her up.

"I'll help," Katniss responds. We make our way down the train, until we find Haymitch's sleeping quarters. I set his unconscious figure down on the bed while Katniss runs a bath. I look down at the prone man in front of me. Would this have been our fate, had we not got each other? Will this be our fate yet? I make a mental note to learn about the victors from other districts and see what their coping mechanisms are. After all, every year only one mentor in twelve brings one of their charges home, and usually only one of them. They will all be familiar to death. Maybe some, like the mentors from Districts 1, 2 and 4 are able to brush the deaths off as readily as the Careers are able to kill.

After a few minutes I feel a touch on my shoulder. Katniss has returned. I reach up and touch her fingers, interlocking them with my own. "I was just thinking,-" I begin to say.

"-how easy it must be to become like him?" she finishes. "I know." Her grip on my shoulder tightens. "Promise me you won't let me?"

"I promise."

She smiles one of those sad smiles I am seeing too often on her. "Thank you," she says, and kisses my forehead. My heart skips at the contact, but I don't push her for more. "Shall we?" she says gesturing at Haymitch with a grimace.

It takes a few minutes to strip him before we unceremoniously dump him in the bath. He is so far gone with the alcohol that not even this wakes him and as such we have to hold him up lest he drown. We rinse the dried vomit from his face and hair and allow the hot water to force his body to sweat out some of the alcohol. When the smell of cooked food wafts up through the carriage towards us we deem that we have done enough, remove him from the bath and lay him down on the bed. We've done all we can for now.

We return to the dining carriage and to the feast laid out before us. I remember the first time we took this journey, seeing the incredible range of food, and there being more than I ever dreamed I would see in one go. I had never suffered hunger in the ways that the kids from the Seam did, but I had never had excess. And seeing all that food and being able to share it with the one I had hoped to talk to my entire life, even under such horrifying circumstances, felt like something out of one of my wildest fantasies. I look at the spread now, after months of always having enough to eat and the excess of it all upsets me. I think of the family of seven yesterday. How the offer of a burnt loaf of bread was more than they had ever hoped for. And suddenly my appetite is gone. I excuse myself and say I am going to get some air.

Towards the back of the train is a balcony protected by a force field. Supposedly for the safety of the passengers, but in reality more likely to stop any tributes from either trying to run away or commit suicide. I lean on the balcony and watch the countryside speed past me.

As the sun begins to set I am joined by Katniss. She finds my hand and we are interlinked once again. "Not hungry?" she asks.

"Not for all that rich rubbish."

"Get used to it quick, there won't be anything else but rich rubbish until we get home!"

I smile and pull her in to a hug. We are heading back towards hell, but for now, on our own in the middle of nowhere, the sun setting behind us, I could easily be in heaven.


	3. Chapter 3

I doubt I will ever fail to be overwhelmed by the Capitol. Everything here is so terribly unnatural, from the people with their ridiculous clothes, hair and make up, to the lights that never seem to diminish. No electricity blackouts ever affect the people here.

A crowd has gathered to cheer in our arrival. As we step from the train the noise from the crowd swells, getting louder every time we wave, becoming deafening when I pull Katniss towards me to kiss her.

We cannot stay long for the crowds, not in our current state. We look far too 'normal' for the Capitol. Effie quickly ushers us towards a waiting hovercar that will take us to our living quarters where our prep teams are waiting for us. We have to be made beautiful as we will be on camera tonight when the Quell is announced.

With a swift kiss, Katniss and I are parted and we are led away to separate areas. I remember the first time I met my prep team, feeling so incredibly self conscious as I stood naked in front of them, as they sized me up not like a human being but like a piece of meat. I wondered at the time if these adults looked at the younger children the same way and my first feelings towards them were of utter disgust.

As soon as they opened their mouths I realised they were more like children themselves; products of this ridiculous regime just like all of us tributes.

I no longer feel embarrassed in front of them as they ask me to strip. They move around me in a slow circle examining every part of me, until eventually Auricula exclaims that thankfully they don't have too much work ahead of them; a simple body polish to get my skin gleaming again, although Atlas is almost in tears as he believes my close proximity to the hot ovens back home is drying my hair out too much. He takes one of my hands in both of his and makes me promise not to let myself "go to ruin." The sight of him is so comical that I laugh and acquiesce. Otillie examines my face and says I will need another epilation treatment. I hate these treatments; a thick chemical paste spread over my jaw and upper lip to prevent hair growth. It burns terribly and with each treatment I begin to wonder if the regrowth will ever return.

Whilst the chemicals work on my face, Auricula gets to work by covering me head to toe in a thick polishing balm, scrubbing until my skin feels raw, while Atlas massages a pungent smelling lotion into my scalp, all the while decrying the clear lack of access we have to decent hair care products in District 12. I keep quiet, as I am sure none of them would believe me if I were to tell them that was the least of our worries back home.

Once I am washed, polished and dried I am dressed in a simple robe to await Portia. She enters in next to no time at all and greets me with a swift hug. "How will we be dressed tonight?" I ask her. She smiles at the use of "we." Ever since our first appearance on Capitol television we have been presented as a team.

"You're both going to look ravishing, sweetie," she responds with a wink. She finishes styling my hair personally, and helps me in to a dark suit that seems to glow deep auburn when it catches the light in a certain way. She kisses my cheek and leads me to the waiting area by the soundstage area where we will be filmed for our reactionary interviews to the announcement of the Quell. I have no idea how to play this one. I can play the love angle they want from me and Katniss, being as that comes naturally anyway, but how are we supposed to act when they announce this new form of torture being prepared for ordinary citizens? A wave of nervous dread settles in my stomach. Before we were sent in to the first arena I promised myself that I wouldn't allow the games to change who I was, and I am determined that they still wont.

One by one other Victors from previous years appear. Some I recognise, Finnick Odair for example must have one of the best known faces in all of Panem, but many are completely unknown to me. I wonder how, if at all, the Capitol has changed any of these people? Who were they before their reapings? Are they still that person in private? How do they cope with seeing so much death year in, year out?

And then she arrives. My breath catches in my chest at the sight of her; her hair has been transformed in to loose curls that tumble and cascade down her shoulders. Hi-lights have been woven in that glow the same auburn as my suit in certain lights. Her long black dress has flame accents at the bottom that give her the appearance of walking through a fire. I drink in every single aspect of her beauty, not wanting to miss a single thing. I hurry across to meet her, pick her up and spin her round in my arms. "You look... I'm lost for words..."

"You? Lost for words? There's a first time for everything I guess!" she says jokingly, reaching up to my face and planting a gentle kiss on my lips for the benefit of the Capitol attendants near us. It may have been solely for the benefit of appearances, but I still take it, and return it deeper than before.

Some Capitol lackeys hurry us back to our seats by the stage area, as they are ready to film the announcement. I take Katniss's hand and together we take our place, side by side. Haymitch is ushered in to a seat next to Katniss, clearly reluctant to be here. The lights go up on the stage and the Panem anthem plays. Katniss increases her grip on my hand and I feel her palms, shaking and sweating, grow cold. I follow the line of her sight and see what she sees. President Snow walking towards a podium in the centre of the stage, a white envelope in his hands. He pauses before taking his place, looking directly at Katniss who grips my hand so tightly it is almost painful. I shift my chair closer to hers so she can rest her head on my shoulder if need be.

Without any further introduction or ceremony, Snow opens the envelope. He clears his throat then reads in a voice devoid of all emotion, "On the seventy-fifth anniversary as a reminder to the people of Panem that the Capitol's control extends over all, two tributes will be reaped from the children of the district and a further two from the adults." A cheer goes up from the audience who cannot wait to witness such mayhem and carnage. Without a further backwards glance Snow is gone from the stage and replaced by Caesar Flickerman who brings the Capitol audience back under control.

Oblivious to what is going on stage and thankful the cameras aren't on us just yet, my head falls into my hands. Two children and two adults all from the same Districts. They could conceivably be sending an entire family to their doom. Mother against son, father against daughter. I think of my own family - my older brothers, my father, my mother... All of them should have been safe from the Games, but not now. I turn to Katniss and I see her thoughts echo mine. She is clearly picturing Prim being thrown in to the games again, this time with her mother by her side, knowing that she will have to watch at least one, if not both, die.

Flickerman is interviewing the previous winners by District instead of as individuals, and I whisper a silent prayer of thanks that we wont have to appear alone.

Haymitch leans in to us both. "You two need to be on your best behaviour out there. I doubt Snow has forgiven you both for being alive, and he'll be looking for a way to punish you. Don't give him the opportunity." He turns his attention to Katniss. "If you can't say something nice, don't speak, you got that, sweetheart?"

She nods abruptly. We both know exactly what is at stake here.

Time moves by with increasing rapidity and before we know it Flickerman announces our entrance. "Ladies and Gentlemen, please give a warm, warm welcome to the victors of District 12!"

It is in a complete daze that I find myself up on the stage, Katniss seated in between me and Haymitch. She kicks off her shoes and tucks herself in to my side. The audience lap it up, while Haymitch rolls his eyes in our direction, gaining quite a few laughs at the same time.

"Well," says Caesar in his genial voice, "I think all eyes are most certainly on District 12 at the moment! You've given us our favourite celebrity couple," he indicates Katniss and myself, "and you Haymitch, winner of the previous Quarter Quell, mentoring them in one of our most entertaining games in many a year, and now back to preside over this year's Quell! What an achievement, all of you!" The noise of the crowd swells again. "Tell me, what do you think of this year's Quell?"

I swallow down the bile that rises in my throat. I want to scream the truth, the appalling truth to all these people, but I think of my family back home. I have to do this for them. But it is Haymitch who speaks first. "Do you remember asking me that question 25 years ago, Caesar? Same answer still stands." The crowd roars with appreciative laughter, and Caesar wipes a pretend tear of laughter away from his eyes. "Who would like to see a replay of that?" he asks the audience, who all cheer back their agreement.

We see on the monitors by the edge of the stage what will currently be being broadcast to Panem. A recap of the interviews from 25 years ago. A young Haymitch, not gone to seed through drink, tall, strong and arrogant sits lazily back in his chair as he's being interviewed. Caesar asks him what he thinks of the games having double the competitors it usually does. "I don't see that it makes much difference," he replies, his eyes full of dangerous anger. "They'll still be one hundred percent as stupid as usual, so I figure my odds will be roughly the same." The audience from 25 years ago burst into hysterical applause, and the audience here match them clap for clap.

"Our two star-crossed lovers have been terribly quiet," says Flickerman, and I feel Katniss tense next to me. "Who would like to hear from them?" More whoops and cheers from the studio audience. "Peeta," he says turning to me, and my mind has gone blank, "Why don't you give us your thoughts?"

"Well, Caesar," I begin slowly, stalling for as much time as I can, "It's like Haymitch said. If you have the want to survive, or the need to protect someone else from death, you'll find a way, no matter how many people stand before you." Katniss looks up into my eyes and I don't trust either of us to say anything else, so I kiss her desperately, passionately, and am only vaguely aware of the sound of "ahhhhhh..." coming from the audience in front of us. She reacts, returning the kiss, and I once again wish with all my heart that she could be this way towards me privately and not just publicly.

"I hate to break this apart," says Caesar with a smile, "but we are longing to hear from you Katniss, Girl on Fire! What do you think about these games?"

For a second I see the truth played out across Katniss's face. She wants to say exactly what she thinks. A dark cloud gathers behind her eyes and the storm threatens to break, but she blinks and it is gone, replaced by a silly, giggling girl in love. "As long as it doesn't threaten our wedding plans, I don't care!" The biggest cheer of all night goes to her. Hopefully we will have pulled this off.

Our time is soon up, and Flickerman invites the three of us to take a bow. I want to whisk the girl next to me away and talk to her privately so we can communicate out loud the true horror. We leave the stage and begin to walk towards our rooms, where we can finally talk freely.

Down an adjacent corridor I spy a strange sight. Finnick Odair leaning against a wall looking thoroughly miserable. A little way to the side of him I see the District Four escort arguing with two different Capitol women. Snippets of the heated conversation float back to me. Something about an exchange of money, something about a broken promise, something about goods paid for and not received. Nothing to do with us at any rate.

Back in Katniss's room, away from the prying eyes and the all seeing cameras we collapse in each other's arms, neither of us fully able to articulate how scared we feel for our loved ones. "What if..." she weeps, her face buried in my shoulder, "Mum... or Prim... Or Gale... or... all of them...?" I tense at the mention of Gale. She has deep feelings for him, it is apparent, and he clearly feels the same way about her. Is there more to it than friendship? I don't know, but they have known each other years, and have all the experiences that years of friendship afford. What do I have in comparison? A lifetime of longing and a faked on screen relationship. I push the dark thoughts away. There are more pressing issues at hand, and Katniss will need support through this more than ever. I let her cry in to my shoulder when there is a sudden loud knocking at the door.

"Peeta! Peeta, are you in there?!" Effie Trinket has come looking for me and sounds deeply harassed. I break apart from Katniss as she quickly dries her eyes and turns away from the door so that her tears may be hidden. I open the door and Effie is stood in front of me, her wig slightly askew. Behind her I see one of the women I had seen arguing with the District Four escort. She has a bizarre, almost animalistic look; clearly undergone far too many body modifications. Her golden brown hair has been pulled into short spikes that pull away from her face, her eyes are yellow with a vertical pupil, and her finger nails are sharp golden talons. She looks positively hawklike. Next to her stands an armed peacekeeper. Effie looks unsure of what to say next. "Peeta, would you mind coming with us?"

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**A/N - Thanks for reading folks, please don't forget to leave a review :)  
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	4. Chapter 4

**A/N – I've tried to keep this within the current rating. If you think this is too graphic and I should up the rating please let me know and I will do. I should warn you; this chapter takes a definite turn for the adult. If sex (particularly non-con sex) offends you, look away now. Thanks!**

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I cannot comprehend what I have done. I look in confusion between them all; Effie, the peacekeeper, the hawkish woman. "Why?" I ask apprehensively. "Where?"

Effie seems to be refusing to make eye contact with me. "Peeta, darling, don't make this any more difficult than it already is."

"Make what more difficult? What have I done?"

Katniss has appeared by my side. "Where are you taking him?" she demands, her hand closing around my wrist.

Effie, still not looking at either of us directly waves her hand towards the strange woman. "Peeta, I'd like to introduce you to Briar Baxwall. She's a very influential lady and she'd like to get to know you better. Nothing to worry about."

"No," said Katniss. "He's not going anywhere."

I hear the click of a gun, and instinctively move in front of Katniss, protecting her. No one makes a move but it was a clear threat. The woman, Briar Baxwall, clears her throat and speaks in soft, girlish tone. "It would be a terrible shame, don't you think, if an accident were to befall anyone back in Twelve? Or if certain names appeared more than others in the reaping balls in the upcoming Quell?"

That is a threat I certainly cannot ignore. If I don't go with them the chances of someone I love being hurt are dramatically shortened. I couldn't live with such guilt. I grit my teeth and nod my head slightly.

"Well!" says Effie brightly, although the tone sounds entirely forced. "I don't think you need me anymore!" She hurries away, but throws a look over her shoulder that is something akin to….concern, perhaps? It can be hard to read her expressions under the thick layers of make up, but this is a look I've never seen on her before.

"I'm coming with you," says Katniss forcefully.

"I don't think that will be necessary!" giggles the woman. "This way, please, Peeta."

I turn to Katniss, hold her briefly and whisper to her that I will be OK. I don't know if I convince her, as I'm having a hard enough time convincing myself that this is the case. I release her from my embrace and cross the threshold of the doorway.

"I'm coming with you!" she repeats, louder than before and makes to follow me.

Briar Baxwall nods to the peacekeeper who advances on Katniss before either of us have time to react. He pushes her back inside her room and slams the door closed, holding it shut. "Don't make me request an armed guard down here!" he barks at her. Through the door as I hear her shouting, banging the door and trying to wrestle control of the door away from the brute. He produces a key from a side pocket and locks her door, sealing her inside. "Katniss!" I call out to her. "Katniss, stay calm! I'll come back, I promise!" The banging and shouting subside. "Promise?" comes her voice through the closed door. "Promise," I confirm.

Briar Baxwall appears highly amused by the whole scene. "How very touching!" she says, breathless and flushed with excitement. She steps closer to me and grips the top of my arm with surprising force. To prove how little choice I have in the matter I feel the barrel of the peacekeeper's gun push me between my shoulder blades.

"Where are we going?" I ask the woman.

She smiles an unreadable smile; it contains both amusement and something else, something akin to hunger. "Somewhere more comfortable."

I am shepherded outside towards a waiting hovercar. This is not one of those used in the Games or by the military. Personal use only. This woman must be incredibly rich. This fact does nothing to warm her to me. As soon as we step inside the hovercar takes off. "Where are we going?" I ask her again, my heart hammering in my chest.

"Just for a little ride around the city. Make yourself at home."

The hovercar's interior is incredibly plush and is split into two rooms; the main room which we are in, and an open door reveals a comfortable looking bedroom adjoining. A large window across one side of the hovercar shows a view of the city skyline. In this living area there are two sets of large squishy sofas set facing each other. She lounges across one and invites me to sit on the other. She claps her hands and a young girl, presumably an Avox, appears by her side. "Bring us wine," she commands. The girl bows her head and returns almost immediately bearing a tray with a bottle and two glasses, which she places on a small table next to Briar. She pours wine into both of the glasses. Briar takes a glass and sips at it, all the while her eyes upon me. She gestures to the other glass. My mouth and throat are dry but I politely decline. She takes another sip and says, "I wish for you to have a drink with me." Behind me I hear the peacekeeper shift slightly in the shadows. I understand the implication and take the other glass. The wine is smooth and sweet – not at all like the alcohol we generally get in District 12, which is more use as a disinfectant than as a drink. Briar is clearly a seasoned drinker as she has finished her drink before I have had more than a few small sips. She pours a second drink and says to me, "Stand up. Let me get a good look at you."

I rise slightly unsteadily to my feet and stand in front of her. I feel almost like I did a year ago, the first time I stood before my prep team as they studied me, but this is worse. This feels even more dangerous. Briar takes a long, slow sip of her wine, never taking her eyes off me. She licks her lips then says in a commanding tone, "Remove your shirt."

I fumble over the buttons but do as she says. Never have I felt so vulnerable as I do right now. I stand before her and shiver in a way that has nothing to do with temperature. This appears to amuse her. With a smirk on her face she makes a twirling motion with her finger. I turn around for her benefit. "Not bad," she says. "Nowhere near as beautiful as dear Finnick, of course, but, oh my… the _prestige_ of you…."

The argument with the District Four escort and the other Capitol woman, Finnick Odair stood nearby looking miserable…. I'm missing some connection here… One answer springs to my mind but it is such a terrible, awful thought that I suppress it as soon as it appears.

Briar swiftly finishes her second glass of wine and stands before me. "Kiss me," she commands. It takes a moment for the words to register. The words she said are in such a strange conflict with the tone she used and the situation I'm in that I can't comprehend their meaning at first. "No," I reply in a disbelieving tone.

Once again I hear the rustle of the peacekeeper behind me. "I'm not asking you, Peeta. I'm telling you. And I'm losing my patience." Those strange, yellow eyes flash dangerously. I am unable to swallow. "But…. Katniss…." I say in a soft voice.

"She'll still be there when you get back." She takes a step towards me and places her clawed hands upon my chest. It takes every ounce of self control I possess not to push her away from me, but I fear the consequences of such an action would be disastrous. I cannot, however, repress the shudder that runs through me at her touch. This infuriates her further and she slaps me hard across my face. "Last chance, boy. You will do exactly what I say, when I say it, without question. Do I make myself clear?"

I am paralysed with a mixture of fear and humiliation and am unable to speak. I nod my head to show I have understood. "SPEAK!" she shouts at me. "Y-yes," I choke out. "Yes what?" "Yes, I understand." Her demeanour softens. "Good. Now kiss me."

I have no choice. I lean my head in towards hers and part my lips. She responds by digging her taloned nails into my chest and thrusting her tongue deep in to my mouth. I focus on the pain her nails are causing in my chest instead of the revolting sensation in my mouth, as it is far easier to understand and accept. She pulls away from me just long enough to instruct me to put my hands on her. I don't know where she wants me so I tentatively place my hands on her waist. This doesn't seem to anger her and she responds by pushing herself further in to my mouth.

She releases the pressure on my chest and her hands move down to the top of my trousers. I feel her start to undo them and in a panic I pull my head away and stutter, "I c-can't…" I see the fury in her build. I have to diffuse this. "I've not….done this before…. Me and Katniss, we are….saving ourselves. For our wedding. For each other."

She looks confused. "But Peeta… I've paid for you." She says this entirely matter-of-fact, as if this is the most reasonable thing in the world. "And besides," she snarls at me, "I told you to do everything I tell you. Without question and without exception. Now undress yourself. Immediately."

I am shaking again as I fumble with the buttons but I see no way out of this. Out of the window I catch a glimpse of the Capitol skyline as we float past, hundreds of feet in the air. The mute Avox girl has vanished, while the peacekeeper stands by, amused derision clearly etched on his face. I think of Katniss, waiting for me back in our rooms. How will I ever face her after this? Is she thinking of me? Is she still locked in her room, awaiting my return? What if she's in this same situation?

No. No, I must not think that way. I promised to always protect her, and the idea that there is something I cannot protect her from is beyond my comprehension.

I stand naked before this woman, Briar Baxwall, the most hated name I can currently think of. I burn with shame as her eyes roam over every part of my body. "Follow me," she says, as she leads me towards the bedroom.

_Focus. One step at a time. Left foot forward. Right foot. Don't think about what's coming. One thing at a time. Focus._

I swallow down the bile that is threatening to rise up. The room she is leading me towards feels like a prison to me, one from which I will never escape. With each step towards it my legs feel heavier and heavier. "Close the door behind you," she instructs. I do as I am bid. "Unzip me." She turns her back on me and I clumsily find the zip on the back of her dress, shaking as I undo it. She is not wearing underwear.

_Don't think about it. Just do what she says. This will be over soon. Just do what she says. Focus. One thing at a time. Don't think._

The words form a calming mantra in my head. They help me step outside of myself, so the events feel almost as though they are happening to someone else, and I'm just a passive, outside observer.

She lies down on the bed and orders me to touch her intimately. I don't know what women enjoy and can only guess that when I stroke between her legs I am pleasing her, as she moans and thrusts my fingers further into her. She orders me to go faster, then to go deeper and her moaning increases to an ecstatic pitch. I feel a warm wetness drip down onto my hands as she stiffens and cries out, and the bile threatens to rise in me again. I swallow it back down.

_Focus. Don't think. Over soon. Don't think about it._

She reaches down to touch me. She whispers in my ear that she wants me inside of her and it becomes apparent very quickly that this is problematic. I can't imagine being less aroused than I am now. She licks my jaw line and tells me to wait. She rummages in a bedside drawer and takes out a vial of purple liquid which she instructs me to drink. My instincts scream at me to refuse, but I know what the price of refusal will be.

_Focus. One thing at a time. All you have to do is drink. That's all. Just one thing at a time._

The effect the vial of liquid has on me is almost instantaneous. I am betrayed by my own body. She pushes me back on the bed and lies down next to me, lightly running her fingers up and down my body.

_Don't think about it. This isn't you. You're safe, this isn't you. Don't think._

"Am I really your first?" she purrs in my ear. I nod abruptly but cannot trust myself to speak. "I was bitterly disappointed when I was told Finnick had been double booked. Turns out you were quite the bargain. I've not taken a tribute's virginity before."

_Don't think. She's talking about someone else. You'll wake up soon, safe and sound. This isn't you._

I close my eyes as I feel her weight settle upon me. She takes me in one of her hands as a guide, and slowly lowers herself onto me. She settles herself for a moment then begins to rock her hips back and forth. Sometimes she leans forward and forces wet kisses along my neck, sometimes she scratches down my chest with her sharp claws or uses them to dig in to my side. I am certain she has drawn blood. This was not how I had pictured my first time. I try to imagine how it should have been as a distraction, Katniss and I, in love, back home, in our bed, in our home that we shared together….

_No! Don't! Don't cheapen her!_

The small part of my mind not overcome with fear and disgust is right. I cannot imagine Katniss while this is happening. I don't ever want to associate her, on any level, with this.

I open my eyes and see Briar Baxwall writhing on top of me. I cannot look at her without feeling nausea and close my eyes once again. She grabs one of my hands and holds it over her right breast, forcing me to touch her once more. She squeezes my hand and moves it over her body, encouraging me to do the same.

_It's ok. Breathe. Don't think about it._

Only…. It is becoming harder to not think about it. Harder to ignore what is happening. Under the layers of shame, of humiliation, of sheer disgust, I feel a new sensation. Dammit. It feels good. I don't want it to feel good but it does. A logical part of my brain reminds me it's just a biological reaction and not a slur on my character, but I hate myself that this feels good. Oh god this feels really fucking good... She's warm, and wet, and tight around me and every movement feels so damn good and my breathing is becoming faster and I put my hands on her thighs and her bum and I pull her down further on to me and I want to go deeper and deeper and…

Her sharp nails pierce my chest and I gasp in pain, "Don't you dare even think about climaxing until I give you permission!"

The spell is broken. I am utterly ashamed at myself for getting so close to losing control. My heart is beating rapidly and my breathing is laboured but at least I am still in control.

Briar shifts her position on top of me. She pulls both my hands above my head and pins them there with one hand. She shifts her legs so she is lying flat on top of me and forces her tongue back inside my mouth. Her free hand is getting more and more violent, scratching and clawing at me, and when she's not trying to suffocate me with her tongue she's biting my ear, my neck, my shoulders. She's moaning and whispering my name. She shifts her weight again to sit up and she leans further back, holding on to my legs to support herself. She rocks faster and faster, and moments later she is screaming my name. She collapses on top of me, a shaking, sweating heap.

I lie perfectly still under her, hoping beyond hope that I will be dismissed and taken back, that this ordeal is at an end. I wonder how many injuries she has given me with those pointed golden nails. "Hold me," she whispers. I wrap my arms around her so that we are a grotesque parody of genuine lovers.

_Focus. Nearly over. You'll soon be home. Soon be safe. Just keep playing along for now._

Playing along… Is this how Katniss feels whenever I kiss her? That I am forcing myself upon her, an unwelcome presence in her life? I cannot bear the thought, but what if there is truth to it? Do I disgust her? Does her skin crawl when I touch her? Does she fight the waves of nausea as we kiss?

I have to leave; the walls are closing in on me but I am so incredibly fearful to do anything without permission. Briar stirs slightly and rolls off to the side. "Go and get the rest of the wine," she commands. I sit up and look for something to preserve my modesty; although the Avox girl and peacekeeper have already seen me naked, I am still erect and have no wish for them to see me this way. Briar smirks in amusement. "Do not cover yourself. Get the wine now."

My humiliation is pretty much complete. I take a deep breath and open the door, and head straight for the half empty bottle and glasses, returning just seconds later. I pour both of us a glass handing one to her, and finishing mine in a single large gulp. The wine has an immediate soporific effect on me, and I pour another. Perhaps this was why Haymitch turned to alcohol? I can easily understand why.

Briar sips her wine all the while drinking me in with her eyes. "I expect I will see you again, Peeta." I down my second glass but say nothing. "Do not insult me, Peeta. I _will_ see you again."

I force a smile and say, "Of course," although inside I am screaming at the horrifying injustice and pray that she changes her mind about me. I remember seeing Finnick Odair earlier, I remember his parade of wealthy lovers in the Capitol…. Will I be shaped in to another version of him? Not if I can help it. Not if I can turn myself into Haymitch first. I spend the rest of the night drinking the wine that Briar offers me, until the world crumbles to a beautiful oblivion and I am aware of nothing more.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N – So to be on the safe side, and after a couple of requests, I upped the rating from T to M. Sorry to be so mean to Peeta, I love him as much as you all do, but Suzanne Collins put him through hell as well, so blame her!**

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I slowly return to consciousness although I do not feel at all well rested. My eyes feel too heavy to open, my mouth and throat feel dry, my head is spinning and my stomach is lurching.

_Water…._ _Need water…._

Where am I? Why am I so terribly thirsty? Why can't I open my eyes? I moan slightly, clutch my stomach and roll on to my side. My eyes slowly flutter open to take in my surroundings. I seem to be back in my room in the Capitol, lying naked on top of my bed. I remember being in the hovercar with…..that woman…. But I have no recollection of returning here.

I force myself up in to a sitting position, but the world spins horribly around me and I have to lie back down immediately. I notice something highly odd. An envelope had been placed on my chest as I slept; it was dislodged as I sat up. With my head settled back on my pillow I try to bring my sight in to sharper focus and open the envelope. Inside is a hand written note;

_Your behaviour last night was deplorable. When I pay for company for an evening, especially at such a premium price, I expect to have company for an entire evening. I do not expect to have to deal with a drunken, impetuous, angry child unable to even stand, let alone perform in the manner I expect._

_See you at the Quell, Peeta._

_B_

I re-read the note, and my entire world seems to be crashing down around me. Impetuous, angry child? I don't recall anything after the first couple of drinks; after the initial ordeal everything is a complete blur. What have I done? Have I said things that I will live to deeply regret? My stomach flips upside-down and I stagger to the bathroom. I only just make it to the toilet before the contents of my stomach empties. I reach a shaking hand up to my mouth to wipe away the spittle but a certain scent catches my attention. It's her. I can still smell her on my fingers; the stench of her sex is all over me. I heave again and again and again until there is nothing left.

_See you at the Quell._

What did she mean? Is she insinuating I'll be back in the arena? Surely that's not possible? Or did she mean that she'll be buying me again when I return as a mentor? My head is pounding and I can't think straight. The world swims sickeningly in and out of focus. I need to clear my head and I need to be clean, to rid myself of the stink of the woman who stole the last vestige of my purity. I crawl to the shower, and turn it on as hot as I can physically bear it.

There are red marks all over my body from where she scratched me. Some of them are quite deep and open up when I scrub myself raw but I don't care, I have to be clean, I have to get every trace of her scent off me.

Not hot enough. I turn the temperature even higher. The water is scalding hot but it feels cathartic. I turn it up further and rest my head against the shower wall, and all at once the weight of the previous twenty four hours comes crashing down on me and my legs will no longer support my weight. I slide to the shower floor and sit there, head in hands, as the scalding water cascades around me. The shower washes my tears from my face as soon as they appear but even when there is nothing left in me the dry sobbing won't stop.

I don't know how long I've been sat here. My skin is burning but it is nothing to the hollow pain I feel in my chest. I want to close my eyes and be able to open them as someone else, someone who doesn't have to feel the way I do. All of a sudden the water stops and I think it must have an automatic cut off but a hand gently touches my shoulder. I flinch at the touch and cannot bear to open my eyes, and the touch is withdrawn. Moments later a warm, dry towel is draped around me, and a voice, the only one that could bring me back whispers my name. "Peeta?"

I look up in to her face. Her eyes show concern as she helps me to my feet and leads me back to the bedroom. Being away from the scalding hot water my body soon begins to shake and shiver with the relative cold. She wraps me in the duvet and crouches in front of me.

"You promised you'd come back," she says. "You didn't."

"I'm sorry," I mumble back.

"I wasn't accusing you," she responds. "I was worried. You didn't come back. It felt like hours until my room was unlocked and I searched for you. I asked Haymitch, he didn't know but helped me look. No one would tell us where you were. I kept trying your room, but it was locked. I knocked and knocked, I called for you, but there was no reply. And I kept thinking that if you had come back, you'd come for me. But you didn't. I went to bed, but I couldn't sleep, and through the night I kept coming back here and trying your room but it was always locked. Then just now I saw steam escaping from under the door. I knew you had to be inside but you didn't hear me calling. Haymitch got a new key from Effie, and we saw you in here. We called your name but it was like you couldn't hear us. He was furious when he saw you, I can't believe you didn't hear him shouting. I think he may have gone to kill Effie."

There are so many things I want to say. I want to tell her what happened to me, but to do so means reliving it, which I am not yet ready to do. I want to warn her, but I don't want her to be fearful of the future. I want to tell her about the ominous note I received, but I am frightened of what her reaction may be. So I say the only words I can. "Hold me. Please."

She sits up on the bed beside me and puts her arm out. I place my head in her lap and she gently starts to stroke my hair, and all at once I begin to feel vaguely human again. We stay in silence in this gentle embrace until our reverie is disturbed by the sounds of ineffectual protest.

Haymitch appears pushing Effie in front of him. "There!" he snarls, pointing to me. "Look at him! Proud are you? What this place does to kids?"

"I…..I didn't…"

"Don't tell me you didn't know, you knew exactly what would happen to him."

"I've never been involved in _anything_ like this before!"

"Sure, sweetheart. You don't sell kids. You just send them to their death."

"Well, I nev-"

"Yeah, yeah," he cuts her off. "Get outta here, I don't even want to look at you."

She scurries away looking highly affronted. Haymitch looks at me and says, "You ok?"

I try and sit up but my skin is burning. I collapse back on to Katniss's lap and say, "You shouldn't have said that, Haymitch."

He smirks in response, "Effie and me have a mutual understanding. I understand how much she hates me, and she understands how much I hate her. She has skin as thick as that of an aged elephant. Anything I say bounces right off her." He tosses a tube of medicinal cream towards me. "You should get some of that on your skin before it blisters."

With Katniss's help I sit up. She peels back the duvet and towel and helps treat me. There are patches of skin that are red raw and I can already see small lumps forming in some areas. She applies a layer of cream and it stings terribly for a second before it feels incredibly soothing. The lumps disappear almost instantly. She pauses over some of the deeper scratches on my chest. "What happened to you?" she asks.

I am not ready to answer this yet. I look down towards the ground and whisper to Haymitch, "Why didn't you warn us?"

He is silent a moment then has the good grace to look ashamed. He collapses in an arm chair and says, "I thought they'd leave you alone. You two being such a golden couple and all. I guess I was wrong."

"I guess you were."

"Peeta, what happened to you?" Katniss demands again. I still can't answer and blink away the memories.

"Did they do this to you too? Do they still?" I ask Haymitch.

He snorts. "Would you pay for me? No, I escaped that. I had no one they could use as leverage against me. Someone tried to buy me once. I told them where to stick it. Wouldn't be surprised if that's exactly what they did."

"Peeta, what-"

"Oh come on, sweetheart, do we really have to spell it out for you?"

She looks at me questioningly, horror underlying the implication. I blink away the tears, and this confirms what she suspected but simply refused to believe. She looks at me, disgust etched in every line of her face, and my heart breaks in to a thousand fragments. "I didn't want to!" I protest.

She takes a deep breath and resumes her treatment of my skin. "I know."

"Who was it?" asks Haymitch.

I shudder at the thought of her and am uncertain I can even bring myself to say her name. "Baxwall," I choke out.

"Baxwall? Briar Baxwall? Fuck…..You deserve a medal."

"You know her?"

"Yup. She's very rich, and very vicious. Has crazy mood swings. One second she'll be mewling like a little kitten, but say the wrong thing and in a heartbeat she becomes a rabid dog. You'll get used to having to schmooze up to her as a mentor. She's rich enough to make or break someone's games for them. She pretty much single-handedly paid for everything at your Feast last year."

"I don't ever want to see her again."

"Sorry kid, that isn't an option."

I want to tell them both everything, how I blacked out from too much drink, how I awoke here with the threatening message but I can't. I can't seem to form the words to admit to them what I may have done. I don't want to see their disappointment in me.

Katniss has moved behind me and is treating the skin on my back. "I need something else for these cuts," she says in a strained, concerned voice. I am sure she's trying to change the subject, and I welcome it.

"How does it look?" I ask.

"Painful. I'd like to get you home and get mum to look at this. I don't trust the doctors here. What did she make these cuts with?"

"Her nails, I'm guessing?" asks Haymitch. I nod affirmation.

My legs are starting to itch. I think I'm beginning to blister along the top of my thighs. I take the tube from Katniss and start to treat myself to save her the embarrassment of her looking at me naked again directly. The places I treat myself don't feel anywhere near as good as the places that Katniss had treated. I vocalise this and remind her she is a natural healer after all. She sighs and says she has done all she can. We are taking the train back to District 12 tonight and she tells me to make sure I visit her mother. She shifts to leave but I grab her wrist and ask her to stay. We don't have to go anywhere today until we catch our train but I don't want to be alone. Haymitch says he will leave us to it and closes the door behind him. We lie down together in each other's arms saying nothing, doing nothing, just being together. In time I will tell her everything about my ordeal, about the note, but for now I will take my comfort where I can.


	6. Chapter 6

My feet are frozen in place as the lift taking me to the surface rises. After a few seconds of pitch black darkness I emerge into sunlight and am temporarily blinded.

I look around. Trees, a field, a lake…. And right there in front of me is the cornucopia. Around the mouth of it weapons, food, medical supplies…. Everything needed to survive. And if I can just survive this blood bath I can protect her.

I look around for her frantically, but at first all I can see are faceless and nameless other tributes, until… there. I spy her. A shaft of sunlight spills down around her, illuminating her as if she is some heavenly being. The countdown nears 10 and I finally catch her eye. I don't want her near this violence and chaos. I need her safely away. I shake my head slightly at her to indicate my meaning. A claxon wails and we are released. I run as fast as I possibly can towards the utter carnage, grabbing what I can, and I notice something strange.

The other tributes…. They are all the same person. A woman, dressed in Capitol attire with short, spiked hair and long, sharp, golden talons. In the split second I am distracted by this strange fact one of them leaps at me. She lands on top of me, knocking me to the ground. She attacks in flurry of movement; her long claws rip me open, but before she can do any fatal damage she falls over dead. An arrow has pierced her throat. It is Katniss. She ignored my warning and now she has come to save me. Two more tributes attack me, their yellow eyes gleaming with malevolence, their long nails flashing in the sun. They manage just one strike each before they too drop down dead, arrows piercing straight through them. And then she is there. My saviour. She stands over me, loaded bow and arrow in hand and I reach my bloodied hand out to her so that she might save me. She looks down at me and smiles, but it is a cruel, cold, pitiless smile devoid of all humour and charm. She pulls back the string on her bow, an arrow pointing directly towards my heart and without a second thought she releases it.

* * *

I sit straight up in bed, covered in a layer of cold sweat. My breathing is shallow and ragged and I am shaking.

It is still dark outside. I have no idea what the time could be; the light indicates it is the dead of night. There is not even the cold grey light of pre-dawn. Just darkness.

Over the past month since we returned from the Capitol my nightmares have been becoming progressively more visceral and more vivid. I actually have to check that my chest hasn't been ripped open, that I don't have an arrow sticking out of my body. I lean out of my bedroom window and gulp down as much fresh air as I can, and with every inhalation the images that are swimming before my eyes become less focused.

I will never get back to sleep now. Moving as quietly as my artificial leg will allow I creep downstairs and head towards the study. I need to paint. I need to get these images out of my head where they will no longer plague me.

I sequester myself away, light a few lamps, set up an easel and get to work with an initial sketch. Katniss, the wind whipping her hair, sunlight behind her, pointing an arrow straight towards the viewer. I trace the drawn outline of her face with my finger. Even at her most dangerous she is still the most beautiful woman I have seen. I kiss the tips of my fingers and touch them to her drawn lips.

Although there have still been many nights that she has come to me to escape her nightmares, since our return from the Capitol I have put myself under a sort of self imposed exile from her. It feels like she is safer if I distance myself from her. I know this is ridiculous thinking, seeing as the Capitol believes our lies of being happy together, but I cannot help but think of the letter that Briar left with me. I go over it every day in my head, and I relive the evening to try and recall some detail but I cannot remember anything at all, almost as if those hours have been taken from me. Was I drugged, perhaps? The thought has occurred to me that this is all just some kind of mind game, a power play that she gets off on, knowing how terrified it must make people. Well congratulations, Briar. If that was your mission consider it a success.

I hear movement upstairs. Dad waking up to get an early start on today's bread. I hear him walking downstairs; he must have noticed the light coming from the study because moments later he knocks lightly on the door before opening it. "Couldn't sleep?" he asks.

I shake my head. He steps inside to look at what I've been doing and immediately he spies the portrait. He smiles a sad smile and says, "She does care for you, you know. Give her time."

"I don't know if time will help. Maybe a life outside of Panem would. Is there anything else though? Other people?"

"Of course there is! There are countries out there where the grass is blue and the sky is green, where cheese grows on bushes, and the rivers are the sweetest wine you can imagine, and the loaves grow on trees, and no one has to work or ever go hungry!" I laugh a little. Dad used to tell us these fairy stories of other lands when we were little. Mum hated it – such talk was technically illegal but it always made me wonder… Panem didn't go on forever, surely there was something out beyond the oceans to the west and east, something beyond the impenetrable mountains to the north or the swathes of desert to the south….

"Seriously though, dad…. Do you think there're any other people out there? Outside Panem?"

The smile has gone from his face. "I don't know son. Maybe."

"Then why don't they help us?"

He pauses before answering. "Maybe they're even worse off than us? Or maybe they've written us off as a hopeless case, hoping we'll just destroy ourselves. Maybe they just don't know we're here. Pointless speculating." He stands and turns his back on me. "I'll be in the kitchen if you feel like helping," he finishes abruptly.

In three days it will be the Reaping. Over the last month I have noticed the mood in the District deteriorate more than usual in the run up to the Reaping. It used to be that we would only wonder which children we would be losing each year. Now every single face in the crowd has the potential to be drawn. Mum has barely been seen over the last few days, and now it seems even dad is feeling the pressure more than usual.

I look at the unfinished portrait of Katniss. I have to speak to her today.

* * *

I paint for several more hours, until it is late morning and I can't bear to be away from her for another second. I usually have some pretence or other for a visit but not today. Today I just need the comfort of a friend, of someone who will understand the way I am feeling, the nightmares, the anxiety and fear….

I step outside. It is a warm day but overcast and humid so the very air itself feels heavy on my shoulders. I feel like I am already covered in a sheen of sweat by the time I reach Katniss's home.

I stand outside for a few moments, working up the courage to knock on her door. Before I am able to she opens it, as if she was heading out already. The sight of her nearly floors me. Her reflexes are excellent and she takes my sudden appearance in her stride, although I must be visibly shaken as she steps outside and says in a voice of genuine concern, "What's wrong?"

It takes a moment to find my voice. "I'm not coping," is all I manage to say.

She nods her understanding. "Me neither," she replies. "I was just coming to find you. Is anyone home at yours?" I shake my head. "Let's go then."

Minutes later we are in my kitchen, as I make tea for us both. "I can't bear it anymore, Peeta," she says. "I can't bear not knowing, I can't bear not being able to help, I can't bear feeling like we're constantly being watched."

"I know." There is so much more that I want to add to her statement, the dubious fears and anxieties that have been plaguing me since that last morning we were in the Capitol but I cannot find the words to form them.

Katniss continues. "And… I keep thinking about….about what happened to you. Peeta, promise me you won't let it happen to me?"

I am silent. It's a promise I can't keep, and she knows it. Tears fall silently down her face. "I'm sorry," I say, kneeling down by her, taking her hand in mine. "I wish I could."

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you. I wanted to. I tried."

"I know." I stand up, help her to her feet and wrap her in my arms. We stand together in peaceful silence a while.

"Was it….you know….was it your first time?" I nod. "Not how you'd pictured it'd be, I guess?"

"Not by a long shot," I agree quietly.

She repositions herself in my arms so that her head rests just under my chin, the side of her face leaning in to my chest. "How did you picture it?" she asks. My muscles tense and I find I am speechless. She pulls away, clearly suddenly embarrassed about asking such a personal question. "I'm sorry!" she exclaims, horrified at herself. "I didn't mean to pry!"

"It's ok," I say and pull her back in towards me, but I don't elaborate further.

She is silent a few moments longer. "I just hate the idea of it being forced on me. My first time. I want it to be my choice, not someone else's. Mine."

My heart almost stops beating. One of her hands has come up to touch my chest. She's tracing small circles on my chest through my shirt, just an inch or so above my nipple. When my heart restarts I am surprised she can't see it pounding through my skin. I stay perfectly still, not wanting to say or do anything that would break this magical spell.

"I know you can't stop them taking me, Peeta. But you can stop them forcing my first time on me."

My mouth is completely dry as she reaches up to me, puts her arms around my neck and kisses my lips. I am in such a daze that it takes time for me to respond but when I do it is with all the passion and longing I can muster.

She frantically pulls at my shirt, untucking it so she can place her hands directly on my skin. I can hardly breathe as her fingers brush lightly over my nipples, my stomach, my back…. I pull away from her briefly, just long enough to gasp, "Not here." I take her hand and lead her upstairs, beyond desperate to touch her, and to have her touch me.

I close my bedroom door behind me and turn to her. "Are you sure?" I ask. She nods and grabs the front of my shirt dragging me towards the bed. She pushes me down and straddles my lap, all the time kissing me, while she unbuttons my shirt. My erection is straining against my trousers and as Katniss grinds in to me I moan in pleasure.

I want to touch her skin, to see everything, but despite the situation I feel nervous; I don't want her to reject me. I lick my dry lips and hold my hand out towards her body, unsure if she wants my touch. She smiles and lifts her shirt above her head, discarding it on the floor. She's perfect. She's more than perfect. In my wildest fantasies she is perfect, but seeing her in the flesh….she puts the dream version to shame. She takes my hands and places them over her bare breasts. I cup them gently as if any extra pressure would cause them to break. They are small, soft, exquisitely round and I feel her nipples, slightly hardened through arousal grazing my palms. I could hold them forever and never get bored.

She winds her hands in to my hair and pulls me closer to her. I lie back on the bed, bringing her with me, enjoying feeling her weight on top of me.

I lower my hands to her hips, and I am desperate to pleasure her. I push her off me, pick her up and lay her down. I sit up next to her and undo her belt, then gently lower her trousers. I look down at the goddess next to me, and it takes all my resolve to not tear the rest of my own clothes off and enter her here and now.

Instead I gently push open her legs and lower myself so I can kiss her intimately. I flutter my tongue over her and I am rewarded with her whispering my name. She grips on to the bedclothes and begs me not to stop and I am more than happy to oblige. She rocks her hips steadily in time with my ministrations and within minutes her back arches and she has grabbed a pillow to scream in to, and I am certain she must be at her most sensitive but I am more turned on than I have ever been and I don't want to stop. She squirms away from me, smiling and breathless and begs me to stop just for a moment.

But I don't want to stop, and I know she doesn't want me to either. She recovers enough to whisper, "I want you."

I strip as quickly as I can and position myself over her. I whisper to her once again, "Are you sure?" She touches my face and kisses me gently. I take a deep breath and slowly push against her until I am buried in her.

Nothing could have prepared me for how exquisite this feels. She wraps her legs around my waist and responds to every single movement.

We move and think as one being, nothing exists outside of our union, nothing else could possibly matter. She is so incredibly tight around me, so hot and tight and wet…. I have to slow down; I don't want this to be over too soon. I pull out for a moment and she moans that she wants me back inside her. I kiss both of her perfect breasts, return my attention to her lips and enter her once again.

I never want this feeling to end. All the pain, all the fear, all the anxiety is gone. But I know it has to come to an end some time. "Katniss…." I whisper to her. I can feel I'm getting close; the tension is building inside me. "Oh, Katniss…."

"Stop," she whispers to me. I am sure she must have said, "Don't stop." In my heightened excitement I didn't hear her properly. I go even deeper, take slower, longer strokes. "Peeta, stop. Please."

I didn't mishear that. I stop, and look at her in utter disbelief. "But…."

"Peeta, please. I can't get pregnant. I just can't." She pushes me off of her. My mind is reeling. I _need_ this. I need her. I need to be inside her, almost as much as I need water or oxygen. She is my tether to life and she's cutting it away. "You know I can't."

"But…. There has to be something you can take? To stop it? Please, Katniss…."

"No, Peeta. I'm sorry."

She's being serious. I'm aching from denied release, my breathing is shallow and every nerve in my body is fire. Why did she come here? Was it just to lose her virginity on her own terms? Surely she wouldn't be so cruel?

I need to climax. I'll go insane if I don't get some kind of release right now. I can't bring myself to look at her. I stand up, and walk to the bathroom without even a second glance at her. I lock the door and turn on the shower. "Peeta!" I hear her calling through the bathroom door, "Peeta, let me in!" I ignore her. "Peeta, please!"

I step into the warm shower and take myself in my hands. I cannot make myself feel as good as being inside Katniss felt, but I need something. Katniss is still banging on the door, calling my name, imploring me to open the door. I'm having difficulty focusing. "Peeta, please, let me talk!"

Despite my best efforts I'm losing my erection. I bang my fist on the wall in sheer frustration, cracking one of the ceramic tiles. I see my face reflected in the broken tile, flushed with a mix of lust and anger. I turn the temperature on the shower right down to try and bring myself back to normality. Outside Katniss is still rattling the door and trying to gain entry. I can't ignore her forever. I step out of the shower, cover myself with a towel and unlock the door. She has wrapped a blanket around her and she looks tearful. "Peeta, this isn't what I wanted."

"Really? Funny, that. This isn't what I wanted either, Katniss. You made me feel cheap. Used."

"I should have been upfront, I'm so sorry, Peeta. I….yes, I used you. I'm sorry. I didn't want them steal that part of me, and-"

"And you knew you could just come round here and throw yourself at me, and I'd oblige?"

"It's not like that. You wouldn't understand."

"I wouldn't understand? How can you possibly claim to know what I understand, Katniss? You think what happened hasn't affected me?"

She is silent. I am seething with rage and hurt and humiliation. She has made me feel more like a whore than the person who paid for my body did.

I hear a small intake of breath, then she speaks quietly. "You're right. Peeta, I've been so scared. I thought you wanted me, and I thought I'd die if my first time was….forced on me. But I wanted to make you happy too. I still can. Please let me make you happy."

Images flash through my mind; some real, some fantasy, some nightmarish. Katniss underneath me, her lips parted and begging me to be inside her, Katniss, on her knees in front of me, her hands stroking the backs of my legs as she wraps her mouth around me, Baxwall, threatening violence if I don't fuck her correctly, and a parade of faceless women all demanding meaningless sex from me. But above all else I see Katniss, cold, calculating, exploiting my weaknesses, using me for her own selfish ends.

"Just leave," I say, devoid of emotion.

I stay in the bathroom until I hear her gather her clothes and hear the click of the front door. I am hollow, I am tainted, the Capitol's puppet whore. Back in my room I look with disgust at the evidence of our tryst; my clothes discarded on the floor, the bedsheets crumpled. I redress, tidy away the attestation to our congress and descend to the study where I am greeted by the portrait of Katniss. My heart skips a beat as her devastating beauty stares out at me. I walk over to it, touch her lips once again and without a second thought put my fist through the canvas. My heart is as broken as surely as if it had been pierced by an arrow.

* * *

**A/N – Someone mentioned in a review that Katniss was a bitch for nearly leaving Peeta behind to have to deal with the aftermath. I agree. I love Peeta & Katniss as a couple, but I always thought Katniss was incredibly self-serving and quite manipulative. Things will work out for them. But things are gonna get worse before they get better for our favourite couple ;)**

**Might be a little longer until I can get the next chapter written. The Reaping is coming up..**.


	7. Chapter 7

It must be early evening when mum returns home. I've been sat in my study holding the broken portrait of Katniss for what feels like hours, unable to do anything but stare at her fragmented face. How can I bring myself to trust her again? Is she even worthy of my trust? A part of me even feels guilty for telling her to go. So many conflicting thoughts and emotions are running through me with and I am entirely unable to rein them in.

"What did I tell you about that girl?" comes mum's voice from over my shoulder. I turn and look at her; her eyes are on the destroyed portrait. I don't say anything to her, and instead return my gaze to Katniss. "Is this all you've done today? Sat moping around doing sod all? Lazy little shit."

I'm in no mood for her aggression today. "Piss off, mum," I say quietly.

A split second pause, then SMACK! A hard thud to the back of my head, and stars swim sickeningly in front of my eyes. I don't know what she used but it felt like more than just her hand. I gingerly touch the back of my head but it hurts too much to leave my fingers there. I'm on my feet and backing away from her in an instant. "Rude, nasty, ungrateful little prick!" she screams. "How would you feel if I get sent away, and that was how you'd spoken to me?"

Even though I'm edging away from her, I feel a kind of false bravado as I respond. "Dunno, mum. How'd it feel for you last year?"

Her eyes widen in anger as she grabs the nearest thing to her, a glass vase, and she hurls it with all her strength at me. I duck to the side and it smashes on the wall behind me. "Clean that mess up," she hisses and storms away.

I take a few minutes before I start as I am shaking from the encounter. I grab a waste bin and kneel down, picking up the largest pieces first. The back of my head is pounding even worse than ever and also now feels hot. As I try and clean up the worst of the glass I see discarded on the floor the object that was probably used to hit me. A wooden sculpture of an owl; a present that Rhees, my oldest brother, made for my dad when he was eleven. I was only five at the time. I watched him as he carved it and I remember being fascinated by it, by the way Rhees was able to give life to an inanimate piece of wood. Rhees moved out as soon as he turned eighteen and has since set up a reasonably successful furniture business in town. He used to take the blame for mistakes I'd made when I was a kid. As soon as he moved out it became apparent that Rhees wasn't the clumsy daydreamer she'd assumed he was, it was her youngest son, and all her ire was turned on me. He protected me so much as a kid. Ironic that she chose that sculpture as her weapon.

I never understood why it was me that received the brunt of her anger. Over time I began to wonder if I actually deserved it. My other brother, Kern, never seemed to be in trouble with her either. He kept himself to himself, worked hard, never made waves. Maybe that was how he didn't attract her attention. Either way, he decided to stay living at the bakery even though he was offered a room in our new home. Couldn't wait to be away from her. He assured me she wouldn't be so bad now money wasn't such an issue. He was wrong.

I return my attention to the broken glass. Once all the large shards are picked up I retrieve a small dustpan and brush and start to sweep the smaller shards, being careful to ensure I get every last piece. My head is still pounding and feeling hotter every second but I have to finish this first before I can attend to myself.

"Peeta? You ok?" My dad's voice. He's standing in the doorway, a look of concern on his face.

"Fine!" I say, forcing a light tone in to my voice, "Just dropped a glass, that's all."

He steps a little closer, "You need a hand?"

"No, it's fine, got it under control."

He steps a little closer, "You sure, buddy?" Another step closer, then, "Bloody hell, Peet, what have you done to your head? You're bleeding!"

Once again I gingerly touch the back of my head. It still hurts but I feel something else. Hot, slightly sticky, and I can feel where the blood has started to dry has matted my hair. "I ummmm, dropped something. Cracked my head on the corner of a table when I got up." I smile a self deprecating smile and tell him not to worry.

He knows I'm lying. "Let's have a look at you," he says quietly, and leads me to a seat. I feel his hands part my hair so he can have a look at the wound. "It's not too bad," he says. "Get it cleaned up and you'll be right as rain. I'm not an expert though, you should go round to Mrs Everdeen's. Ask her to have a look."

"No!" I snap, louder than I had intended. My eyes fall on Katniss's portrait. Dad follows my line of vision; he must see what I've done but he makes no comment on it. "Let's just get it cleaned up then," he says gently.

He leads me through to the kitchen, wets a cloth and gently begins to dab at the back of my head. I flinch as the extra pressure hurts terribly. "Sorry," he apologises as he continues to clean. "You really need to be more careful, Peeta." I understand the subtext. _Don't say anything to upset her. You know what she's like. _I nod my head, inhaling sharply as the movement causes a fresh wave of pain. "Here," he says, handing the cloth to me. "I've cleaned it as best as I can, hold that on it if you can. Back in a minute."

He leaves the kitchen, quietly closing the door behind him. I tense up, preparing for the inevitable, and sure enough it comes after just a few minutes. Raised voices drift back to me from somewhere in the house, voices that become more and more heated with every passing moment. I try to stand but my head pulses angrily and feeling dizzy I slump back down in my seat, unable to escape to a place of solitude.

The voices rise to a peak and I hear heavy footsteps rushing towards the kitchen. The door opens with a bang and mum is standing in front of me, face like a storm. Our eyes meet for a moment, but I am unable to hold her gaze. Without a word she grabs her coat, is out the hall and slams the front door, rattling the entire house. A few moments later my father follows her, closing the door quietly behind him, so I am left alone in the house. My head is pounding and I'm feeling a little dizzy again so I rest my head in my arms on the kitchen table.

I start to daydream about the other lands dad told us about in his make-believe stories; a world without hurt, without fear, without pain…. I wonder how life would be if fear wasn't such an every day emotion. Not just fear of the Capitol who hold our very lives in their hands, but fear of supposed loved ones too. It seems such an alien concept.

I am overcome with tiredness. I climb unsteadily to my feet, fighting against the waves of dizziness that threaten to push me back down. It takes longer than usual to climb the stairs; more than once I have to grab the bannisters to steady myself and take a deep breath before I am able to continue.

I pause on the threshold of my bedroom, closing my eyes briefly. Images from this morning come back to me and the feeling of being used returns a hundred fold. Staggering to the bed I do my best to push the images away, but as soon as I collapse on top of the bed I can smell her scent and she fills my mind once again. Empty tears stream down my face as I fall in to a troubled sleep.

* * *

When I awake the sun is streaming in through my opened window. My eyes flutter open. I'm under the covers; dad must have found me asleep on top of them and put me to bed. I'm usually a light sleeper so it surprises me that he was able to do this without waking me. I rub the sleep out of the corners of my eyes and groggily sit up straight.

My brother, Rhees, is sat at the end of the bed watching me. "Welcome back, little bro," he says with a lop-sided grin on his face. "We were worried about you there."

"Wha-what are you doing here?" I ask through a yawn.

"Looking after you, dummy!" he says with a laugh. I reach behind me, grab a pillow and chuck it straight at his head. He catches it and says, "Alright, you get one freebie. 'Cause you've been ill. Normal days you know I'd win you."

"What do you mean, I've been ill?"

"You've been asleep nearly two days. We've been taking turns keeping an eye on you. Mrs Everdeen said it was something to do with that blow to your noggin. You kept waking up briefly but falling asleep again. She said as long as you weren't having a fit you should be ok. So we've all had to take it in turns to make sure you weren't fitting."

"Just my luck it's your ugly mug I see when I wake up."

"Strike two buddy. One more and I don't care how ill you've been," he says with a wink. "You want anything?"

My mouth is so parched. "Water," I say. He returns momentarily with a glass that I gratefully sip at. "Two days?" Rhees nods confirmation. I sip a little more water. "Who was here?" I ask.

"Me and dad, obviously. Kern's been here a couple of times. Mrs Everdeen." He pauses and says with a knowing smile, "Katniss."

I can't breathe. "Katniss was here?"

"She's hardly left."

I don't know how to take this news. Was she feeling guilt perhaps? Surely she wouldn't have come here out of altruism? No. Her actions towards me have shown she is incapable. But then why?

"And….mum?"

I see Rhees's hands ball up into fists. "She's been staying with the Cronins, Said you attacked her, and that she acted in self-defence."

"And people believe that?" I ask incredulously.

"Not the ones that matter."

I am mortified. Utterly mortified that anyone would possibly believe me capable of attacking anyone. I never liked the Cronin family. They owned the butcher shop, and their son, Rafe, was the year above me at school and notorious as a bully. As far as I was concerned they were all welcome to each other.

"So what did happen?" asks Rhees.

"I uhhh… I told her to piss off."

"Bloody hell, Peet, were you feeling suicidal?"

"Something like that."

He doesn't press me for an answer. Instead he comes closer and pulls me in to a hug. "It's good to see you back, little bro. I'll go get dad; he'll want to know you're awake."

Rhees leaves me alone giving me a minute or so to reflect. Two days? Gone? Which would mean the Reaping takes place tomorrow. Which means that once again Katniss and I will be pretending to be a blissfully happy couple. Even after our first return from the Capitol, when I learned that she had been acting for the cameras to gain sympathy, I understood her motivations which meant forgiveness came as well. But this… This took a different kind of slyness. The worst part of it is I find myself wanting to forgive her. The longing I have has been a part of me for so long, I fear that I would feel alone without it.

Dad bursts in the room. He looks tired and haggard; he clearly hasn't been sleeping well. "Thank god, son," he exclaims, pulling me in to a hug. "I thought I was going to lose you again. Don't let me lose you again."

He holds me close to him, and I can feel him shaking as the tears escape. I recall last year as we said our goodbyes; he held me this way and I had promised I wouldn't make him ashamed to be my father. He told me he was more proud of me than I could imagine. Neither of us ever thought we would see the other again. It was a far cry from the goodbye I received from my mother who instead moaned about the increased workload my death would equal, and how having to take on a member of staff that would require paying would cut in to their profits.

After a while he pulls away from me. "If you feel able, you should come and eat. Get your strength back."

I dress myself slowly, my muscles aching from lack of use. The smells of fresh bread and savoury cooking drift up the stairs and my stomach growls in anticipation.

I enter the kitchen. Dad, Rhees and Mrs Everdeen are sat around the table. They all look up at me as I come in, but it is Mrs Everdeen who speaks. "It's good to see you, Peeta," she smiles.

I sit down next to my brother where a steaming hot bowl of leek and potato soup and three slices of buttered toast await me. I about to launch in to it when Mrs Everdeen warns, "Not too quickly. You could make yourself sick."

She's right of course, but I still resent taking advice from the mother of the girl who causes me so much heartache.

The soup has an incredible rejuvenating effect on me. With each mouthful I feel more and more myself. Mrs Everdeen watches me eat every last bite, and once I have finished she says, "How are you feeling, Peeta?"

"Fine," I reply.

"No headaches?"

"No."

"No memory loss? Or confusion?"

"Unless you count the last two missing days, no."

"No loss of vision? Or tinnitus?"

"No."

She smiles. "Well, I think you should be ok. I'll tell Katniss you're awake, she'll want to see you."

"No," I say firmly. Everyone stares at me. "I'll see her tomorrow."

Mrs Everdeen looks unsure of what to say. She politely excuses herself and leaves. Dad follows her out of the room while I stay seated at the table, staring fixedly ahead of me.

When dad returns he says, "I don't know what you two argued about, but that girl has hardly left your side for the last thirty six hours." I shift uncomfortably in my seat. "Don't think I've ever seen her so worried," he continues.

I don't know what to say or think. More confirmation of what Rhees said earlier. That Katniss has been looking after me. Maybe that is the only way I'll ever get her true attention; by being an invalid needing care. Anything else is just fake.

Speaking of fake… The Capitol. Two days gone, the Reaping tomorrow…. Which leaves me only a single day of normality before being thrust once again into the public eye. One more day before I have to watch at least three people I know die horrific deaths. I won't be able to turn the television off this time, no chance of turning away and pretending it isn't happening. I almost feel more nervous than I did after my own name was pulled from the Reaping balls last year. And so I determine to spend that last day of normality with the people who I know love me, who want nothing from me, who have no hidden agendas or that use me as a piece in their own games. My family.

* * *

**A/N – Sorry! I know I promised you the Reaping last time. But somehow this chapter got written instead. **** The Reaping is coming up soon though, I promise! Please leave a review, as they feed my hungry muse :)  
**


	8. Chapter 8

I never sleep before a Reaping. When I was six, dad sat me down the night before and explained that we all had to be brave because Rhees may have to go away, and there was a chance he may not be able to come home. I didn't understand why he may be sent away, or what the grizzly consequences would mean, but I understood the concept that I might not ever see him again, and so I crawled into bed next to him, forcing myself to stay awake so that I could have as many minutes with him as possible.

It was two years later that I saw my first ever Hunger Games. It was the first year Kern's name was also entered into the gruesome draw. I had been warned that there was a possibility either of them could be sent away that year and was overcome with relief when it turned out it would be a different boy, one of Kern's classmates who used to come round and play every Saturday, that had to go away. A few days later I was amazed to see the boy interviewed on television, and I remember a feeling of disappointment that I didn't get to see either of my brothers on the screen, being made beautiful by the Capitol.

The next day, after I had been put to bed, I remember hearing my dad weeping downstairs. I snuck out of my room and tiptoed down the stairs. He had been watching a recap of the opening of the Games. I stood transfixed by horror, my hands over my mouth as I tried to hold in the screams, as I witnessed the death of my brother's friend in the opening blood bath, as an older boy drew a knife across his throat. Dad saw me and immediately pulled me into his arms. I remember him whispering that it was all going to be alright, but from that moment I knew that nothing was going to be alright again. I endured three more years of sleepless nights before the Reaping as I worried about my brothers' fates, then the inevitable wave of gratitude that they were safe for another year.

Then when I turned twelve came the realisation that I was going to be entered. I have never known fear like it. It was the only year that all three of us were entered. I stayed up all night beforehand whispering prayers to a deity I didn't believe in to please keep us all safe.

We were all dressed in our best clothes and shepherded out in to the square. I wanted to stay by my brothers' sides and I put up an ineffectual protest, risking the anger of the peacekeepers, as we were arranged by our age. I stood frozen to the spot, shaking from my head to my toes as the girl's name was drawn out. Patri Galloway. I still remember her name. She was a couple of years older than me, from the Seam. She could barely stand up from the combined forces of hunger and fear. I watched as she stumbled up on to the stage, then froze solid, as I watched Effie Trinket dive with glee into the ball to draw out the name of the boy who would be joining her. All I could do was watch her hand as it swirled those names around, knowing that on six of those slips of paper was written the name 'Rhees Mellark,' four of them said 'Kern Mellark' and on one single slip of paper was the name 'Peeta Mellark.' I crossed my fingers as hard as I could, unable to breathe as I whispered in my head again and again, _'Please….please not us….please not us….'_ When the name Garl Easterlow was drawn I nearly cried out in relief.

Patri and Garl did better than most from District Twelve; they at least both survived the first day. Garl was killed on day three by the careers; pinned down by one while another gleefully hacked at his neck with a serrated blade, not stopping once he was dead. The career who killed him fully decapitated him. The other careers sensed that this boy was clearly deranged and turned on him themselves which started up a second blood bath, from which only one career walked away, grievously injured. Patri came across him stumbling through some trees and finished him off with garrotting wire that she had managed to acquire. She survived another two days until she was finally killed by a girl from District Eight with a knife between her shoulder blades.

I don't know why I remember those Games so clearly. Perhaps because the relief I felt at surviving my first Reaping heightened my interest in what I had escaped. For several weeks afterwards whenever I closed my eyes I pictured myself in Garl's place, unable to move while someone tore at my neck.

Every year was the same. Vague fear in the run up, blind panic the night before, relief coupled with survivor's guilt in the weeks after. And then last year… The name that came out of that first ball…. _Primrose Everdeen._ I immediately sought out Katniss in the crowd, wishing to offer her some kind of silent support, even though she didn't know me….But before I had found her of my own volition she spoke up. She volunteered to take her sister's place, and the universe came crashing down around me. I watched her take her place on the stage, frightened but defiant, and a part of me wanted to rush up there and throw my arms around her. Then my own name was called out. At first it didn't register. It didn't seem possible. It was too unfair that the world could be this cruel. Someone behind me pushed me forward and my legs turned to stone as I stumbled forward to take my place. Inside I was screaming, inside I was running, inside I was begging for forgiveness from the cruel fates. I caught my dad's eyes and they showed a combination of shock, defeat and sorrow. I kept thinking I must have fallen asleep after all, and that I was soon going to wake up, and that this terrible nightmare wouldn't be real.

And now here I am again. I shouldn't be in this situation again, that I cannot sleep for my family's or my own safety. And yet thanks to the Capitol's bloodlust, every single person in this district has to fear for their lives today. If I could just go to Katniss, I would be able to find comfort in her arms… I wonder if she is lying in her bed thinking the same…. But my pride dictates that I stay here, lying in the darkness, alone, offering my standard prayer to non-existing deities until the sun comes up.

After what feels like an age the darkness starts to lift, flooding my room with a cold grey light. When I feel like I can no longer stand being still and inactive I get up, shower and dress.

I feel stifled indoors and head outside for some air. There is no sign of life coming from Haymitch's home; he'll be unlikely to be seen before midday, but there are already lights on in Katniss's home. Part of me wants to go round, to see her, just to spend time in her company. I sit down on my doorstep, breathing in the morning air and am considering what I would say to her if I went to her when her front door opens and there she is, hunting bag slung over one shoulder. Our gaze meets for a moment and she looks unsure of what to say or do. I stand up, turn around and walk back inside, closing the door behind me.

* * *

The feeling in our home is incredibly subdued all morning. The bakery has stayed closed, Kern has made the journey from town to the Victor's Village, and the four of us sit around the kitchen table in near silence. Their chances are good; in an ironic twist all tesserae taken as children will result in an extra chance of being drawn. Thankfully we never needed to take tesserae, meaning my brothers and my father will only have their names in the Reaping Ball once each. I think of Katniss's friend Gale Hawthorn; Thanks to the tesserae he took over the years his name will be in there thirty six times.

Gale. I wonder bitterly if she tried to sleep with him first He probably would have seen the ploy a mile away and turned her down. Not me. Not poor, stupid, lovesick, gullible Peeta. I think again of those thirty six pieces of paper with a kind of vindictive pleasure, instantly feeling regret. I can't wish the Hunger Games on anyone, no matter who they are, or what they have done. No one deserves that hell.

When it nears half past one, my father stands, takes a deep breath and says, "Let's get this over with."

We walk in silence to the square in front of the Hall of Justice. I hug each member of my family in turn, and promise I will see them after the Games; once the names have been drawn I will be taken back to the Capitol. There are three seats by the side of the stage that have been reserved for Haymitch, Katniss and myself. Katniss is already sat in the left hand chair. Haymitch has not yet made an appearance. I take the empty seat on the right, staring straight ahead.

"Hey," she says quietly by way of greeting.

"Hey," I respond, still not looking at her.

"Peeta, how long are y-"

"Don't," I say, cutting her off. "Just don't."

We sit in terse silence a while, until Effie appears, positively beaming with excitement until she spies the two of us. "What's this?" she says incredulous, indicating the gulf between us.

Haymitch stumbles up on stage, draping his arm around Effie's shoulders, "Lover's tiff," he smirks.

"Yes, well, that won't do for the cameras. Get it together, you too, kiss and make up!" With a heavy sigh, I shift a seat along. "Hold hands!" she says impatiently. It takes a real effort to force myself to do as I am told. "And smile!"

Haymitch falls heavily into the chair I recently vacated. Within seconds he is snoring gently. I'd probably laugh if the whole scenario wasn't so desperately tragic.

Effie walks out on to the stage along with Mayor Undersee. In moments a tense silence falls over the entire District. Mayor Undersee gives his usual speech about the history of Panem and the Treaty of Treason before introducing Haymitch first. He is still snoring and I have to give him a swift kick to the shins to wake him up. He stumbles on to the stage and collapses in to a seat. "And," continues the Mayor, "please welcome the latest victors from District Twelve, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark."

I fix a smile on my face, and we walk out on to the stage, all waves, and smiles and carefree kisses. Damn, we're good liars.

Effie starts to blabber on about what a pleasure it is to be back in District Twelve. The words seem hollow to me and I'm certain to every single resident of District Twelve. She finishes with her usual, "May the odds be ever in your favour," and steps up to the first Reaping Ball. "Ladies first," she adds with a little giggle. This is it. Katniss grips me tighter than ever, and despite whatever feelings I currently have towards her, I return the gesture, trying to reassure her. Effie pulls a name from the ball and totters up to the microphone, reading in a clear voice, "Ava Herriot!" Next to me I feel a shudder of clear relief come from Katniss. Prim is safe for another year.

A petite, blonde girl I do not know of about 15 is making her way to the stage. Already I can see the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. She hastily wipes them away before turning to face the crowd.

"Excellent, excellent," smiles Effie. "And now for the second lady!" She reaches in to the next glass ball, this one filled with the names of all the adult women in the district. Katniss's grip tightens yet again. "Hettie Undersee!" A gasp goes up from across the town square. Hettie Undersee. The Mayor's ill wife. The Capitol really is showing they have dominion over all. I glance to my left and see Mayor Undersee's shocked face as he watches his wife climb unsteadily up here, clutching her own head, and shaking visibly. He rushes forward to comfort her and is immediately forced back in to his own seat by Peacekeepers.

"How exciting!" exclaims Effie. "And now for the boys!" She moves on to the third ball, and immediately draws out a slip of paper. "Rafe Cronin!" I quickly spot Rafe in the crowd. He looks pale, but is gritting his teeth, and doesn't falter as he makes his way to the stage. "One more to go!" She walks over to the final ball. My heart is in my throat, as I begin my silent prayer. _Please keep them safe…Please, please, please….keep them safe….._

"Steffan Mellark!"

I am on my feet in an instant, pushing forward. I am only vaguely aware of Katniss and Haymitch who are both holding me back. All I can hear is blood pounding in my ears and I am aware of terrible rushing sensation, that feels like falling from a great height. The words spill from my mouth almost of their own volition.

"NO!" I break free from my friendly captors. "I volunteer as tribute!"

* * *

**A/N – Thanks for reading folks **** Please leave a review if you like what you read, as my muse feeds on them, which will cause me to write faster ;) **


	9. Chapter 9

"Sit down," hisses a voice in my ear. As he speaks I am overcome with the powerful stench of alcohol. He tries to force me back in to my seat but I am by far stronger than he is. All I am aware of is my father who has rushed forwards through the crowds to me.

"Don't you dare let him!" he is shouting to anyone around him. His hands hold my face up to look in his eyes and I stop struggling for a moment, "I can't lose you again, Peet."

Effie's voice cuts through like a knife. "Peeta, you can't volunteer for an adult. You may be able to volunteer for the other boy? I'll have to check the rules, I think this may be unprecedented…" She cannot hide the excitement in her voice at such a dramatic turn in events.

"No!" shouts my father. "No, he's not going back!" He looks at me again, his hands once again cupping my face. "You hear me, Peet? Now, sit down."

I am completely numb as I am led back to my seat. I feel a hand slip across my shoulder. Katniss. She pulls me gently towards her. I am too numb to even shrug off her attention.

I cannot comprehend this – his name was supposedly one amongst thousands…. Was this my fault? Briar's message flashes before my mind's eye. Have I condemned my father to death through my own self-pity? I feel a gentle squeeze on my hand as Katniss simultaneously kisses my cheek. "Hold it together, Peeta," she whispers in my ear while leaning in.

Effie recovers enough from the shocking turn of events to stand in front of the gathered crowds. "Ladies and gentlemen!" she announces, "I give you the tributes of District Twelve!"

The Panem Anthem plays, and as soon as it finishes Peacekeepers have already appeared to march the latest victims towards the Justice Building where they will say their last goodbyes to their families. I stand up to follow them, but I am held back by Haymitch. "Get out of my way," I spit at him.

"You need to wait," he says, trying to placate me.

"THAT'S MY DAD, GET OUT OF MY WAY!"

"And now you know how he felt watching you. And you need to wait to be called in to see him. They may not even let you see him until you're both on the train." I ignore him, pushing him to one side. He recovers instantly, once again blocking my path. "Do you think they'll have any hesitation shooting the rest of your family if you don't behave?"

My brothers…. I can't lose them too…. Even mum, even after everything she's done, I wouldn't want to be responsible for her death. I squeeze my eyes tight shut, ball my hands in to such tight fists that they hurt and try to bring my self back under control. My breathing is still ragged, but this seems to satisfy Haymitch enough to let me go.

I feel Katniss grip on to my arm as she gently leads me away to one side, away from the cameras, away from all the prying eyes of the Capitol. I follow without protest, already feeling all the fight leaving my body. When she feels we are at a safe distance, she asks me, "Are you ok?"

I almost laugh out loud at the inadequacy of such a question. No. I am not 'ok.' I am about to witness my father being sent to his death, and not only that but I am expected to help train others to assist in that death. There is a chance it is my fault he is being sent away because I may have insulted someone in the Capitol who had paid for my body. And as we heading back there it is likely to happen again. Oh, and while we're on the subject should I be charging you for what you did to me? I am unable to vocalise all my feelings in to a concise sentence; all I can do is shrug and look away.

"Please don't shut me out," she says in a soft voice.

The concern in her voice seems genuine, and for a moment I imagine losing myself in her arms, drowning in her kisses, escaping this world in her touch and embrace. I can't risk that closeness; I can't risk her hurting me again. And I can't risk having her within my grasp only to lose her, or have her torn from me.

Her hand rests on the top of my arm. I look at it and slowly take it in my own hand, remove it from resting on me, then let go. I walk away from her without looking back, and head towards the Justice Building.

* * *

I pace nervously up and down in the entrance to the Justice Building while Katniss and Haymitch watch me from an adjacent waiting room that we're supposed to be staying in. No one is sure if I'm allowed to go in to see dad while he's with my brothers; they keep saying that as I am his mentor I need to wait to be introduced to him formally on the train. When I pointed out that was my father and I didn't need to be formally introduced a Capitol bureaucrat bumbled off to check some ancient rule and told me to wait here. They have not returned, and the two peacekeepers guarding the door he is behind with my two brothers have made it very clear that they will not allow me entrance until said bureaucrat returns with official permission.

After what feels like an age he returns. "I've been over it with a fine tooth comb. Rules are rules, and if you spend time with him before any of the other tributes it could give him an unfair advantage, and so I regretfully have to decline your request."

"I'm asking to see him as his son, not as his mentor!"

"And you will see him. On the train, like all the other tributes."

I feel my grasp on reality slipping away. I'd have more luck trying to negotiate with the wall. "Just…. Tell him I was here, then."

"I'm sorry, sir, I cannot pass messages on to a tribute that may include coded information."

I press the heels of my hands into my eye sockets to try and relieve the headache building. "Please. Just tell him."

"You will be able to relay the communiqué to him yourself, once you are on the train."

It is fortunate that at that moment the door being guarded by the peacekeepers opens and my brothers step outside. Another moment in the company of the Capitol idiot and I would probably have a bullet between my eyes for attacking him. I catch a brief glimpse of my father, standing up and watching his other two sons leave the room. I step forwards, calling, "Dad?" and our eyes meet for a moment before one of the peacekeepers pulls the door shut.

"Let's go," says Rhees quietly, leading the three of us away from the peacekeepers. I hear Haymitch call after me not to go too far. We head outside. There is still a large crowd outside, but at least we can speak more freely. "Is he ok?" I ask immediately, feeling the same sense of inadequacy at the question I felt earlier.

"He's calm enough," says Rhees. "I don't think the reality has sunk in yet."

Kern is rapidly blinking away tears, impatiently wiping the fallen strays away with the back of his hand. "Look after him, Peet," he says, before adding, "Didn't think we'd have to go through this again." He collapses down on to the steps in front of the Justice Building, head in his hands, shaking silently. Rhees and I sit down next to him, all of us locked in our thoughts. I hear footsteps approach us from behind and I look up briefly to see my mother walking straight past us without acknowledging that any of us were there. This is the first time I have seen her since she hit me. I briefly nudge Kern, who sees her and in turn nudges Rhees. "Charming woman," says Rhees loud enough that she must have heard. "I'm so honoured to have fallen out of her cunt." She pauses briefly but keeps walking.

"You shouldn't have said that," says Kern, wiping away a tear.

"Why not? She nearly killed Peeta, she doesn't give a shit about any of us, and she's obviously not been visiting dad, has she?"

I watch my mother as she retreats away. Rhees is right, she can't have been visiting dad; the only other person she would go to see would be Rafe Cronin, as she's been staying with them, but to see him ahead of her own husband… "I'll do everything I can to bring him home," I promise my brothers, "So he can have the satisfaction of throwing her out."

"Thank you," says Kern quietly. We sit together in silent contemplation for a while, watching the world bustle past us, as people go back to their lives, grateful to not be a part of our private grief.

"Peeta!" Effie's voice has the habit of cutting through silence like a hot knife through butter. "Why aren't you inside? Come on, we need to move! We're already falling behind schedule! Chop chop!"

It is with a terribly heavy heart that I hug my brothers goodbye. I promise them both once again that I will try anything and everything to bring our father home. "I know you will," says Rhees as I am led away to the Capitol train.

As soon as we are on board I find my father in his rooms. "I'm so sorry, dad," I choke out, as unwitting tears spill.

He puts an arm around me, and tells me it isn't my fault. I cannot bring myself to tell him that my deepest worry is that it really could be my fault. I can't admit to him what happened the last time I was in the Capitol. "No matter what happens," he says, "just make sure you look out for your brothers, ok?"

"I won't need to, you're coming home," I tell him.

"We'll see," he says with a sad smile.

Eventually a call is put out over the train that supper is being served and we make our way to the dining carriage where a magnificent feast awaits us all. I have had enough Capitol food to last a lifetime, and satisfy myself with a fresh peach, while everyone else digs in with gusto. Only Hettie Undersee, the mayor's wife, is reserved about the food in front of her; her eyes are red raw and she is still unable to stifle her sobbing.

Rafe Cronin has heaped his plate with everything he can manage, and eats while eyeing everyone around him with distrust. "So, you're gonna keep us alive, right?" he says thickly to Haymitch, Katniss and myself through mouthfuls of food.

Haymitch answers while pouring himself a glass of some kind of dark spirit. "Only one who can keep you alive is you, kid."

"But you can help, right?"

Haymitch knocks the entire glass back with a practised flick of the wrist and immediately pours a second. "Sure, why not?"

"I'll tell you why not. Him." He indicates my father with a jab of his knife while looking at me. "We're not gonna get any help from you while he's still alive."

"What are you saying, Cronin?"

"You that dumb that you can't work it out on your own? I'm gonna kill your old man first, Mellark."

It takes the combined effort of both Haymitch and my father to hold me back. I don't care about anything other than wiping that smug, arrogant smirk off his hated face. He chuckles to himself at the sight of the struggle, and sits back down with his food. "Leave it," says my dad, a warning tone in his voice.

"He's ummm… He's got a point though," pipes up Ava, nervousness apparent in her every word. "Not what he said," she adds hurriedly, "but you will help all of us, right? Not just him?"

It is her words more than anything that calms me down enough for dad and Haymitch to relinquish their grip on me. It was bad enough for us last year, but it must be utterly terrifying in her situation.

Katniss speaks first, "As long as you do everything we tell you to do, we may be able to get you sponsors. So best not to antagonise us, alright Rafe?"

He shrugs and continues gorging himself on the banquet. I can't tear my eyes from him; the hatred emanating from me must surely be palpable. "Go get some air, son." My father's words seem to drift to me from miles away. With a real effort I leave the carriage and head to the very end of the train, to the balcony where Katniss and I watched the sun set just over a month ago. Can it really only have been a month? I feel like I have lived a thousand lifetimes in this short space of time.

I hear a clinking of glass and the door opens. Haymitch joins me, bottle of spirits in one hand, glass in the other. "Want to talk about it?"

"No," I say, leaning forward on the railings and watching the ground speed past below us.

"Want to drink about it?" he smirks, pouring a glass.

"Got anything stronger?"

"Believe me, kid, you don't want to go down that path. It aint pretty." He holds out the glass to me and swigs straight from the bottle.

I take a small sip from the proffered glass. The vile taste burns my mouth and throat, but as soon as it hits my stomach I feel a calming warmth start to spread. "Less pretty than you? Cheers for the warning," I say as I take another sip.

We drink together in silence for a few more minutes. "You better improve your game when you get to the Capitol," he manages to slur out.

His statement seems to be such a non-sequitar that it catches me off guard. "What?"

"You and the girl. Managed to cover for Effie – she's blind as a bat and if she noticed something was up with you, they will. So make it up before we get there." I am about to protest when Haymitch speaks again. "You think things are bad for your old man now? They can make it worse. So go and make it up."

"Worse?" I say incredulously. "How can it possibly be worse?"

"You willing to take that chance?" He empties the last of the bottle down his neck and snatches what's left in my glass away from me before stumbling back inside. He's right of course. Who would have thought that the games wouldn't end when we left the arena, and that we would remain players for the rest of our lives?

* * *

**A/N- Well done to those who guessed Peeta wouldn't be allowed to volunteer. Y'got me! :p Thanks again to all reading this :) Glad you are enjoying it, and as always please leave a review if you like what you read!**


	10. Chapter 10

Who do I go to first? Katniss or my father? What can I even say to either of them that hasn't already been said?

I walk slowly back through the train, hoping that by the time I reach either Katniss or my father I will have some idea of what I will say, but I am having difficulty gathering my thoughts. The spirits Haymitch gave me have left my head feeling a little fuzzy.

I reach the door to my father's room first. I pause before knocking to steady myself; the gentle rocking of the train seems to exacerbate and amplify my own swaying movements. How does Haymitch drink that stuff so freely, when just a few sips have left me this way?

My knock is soon answered as my father opens the door. He looks at me with a slight frown on his face and sniffs the air. "Have you been drinking?" he asks, his voice full of stern authority. I nod meekly. "Hmm. That Haymitch should know better, giving liquor to a kid." His expression changes to one of regret as he sighs. "My boy's growing up. Come in." I perch on the edge of his bed, while he sits in an armchair by the window. "I always looked forward to the day I'd be able to share a beer with all of my sons. Doesn't look like that's going to happen now."

"Don't say that, dad…"

"I'm not trying to be depressive. Just realistic. My chances aren't good, son. I'm not a killer."

"Neither was I!" I say in my defence.

He smiles at me. "No. And I'm so proud of you. Maybe I'll get lucky, eh?" He stands up. "How's about that beer? Do you think I'll be able to find us one on this train?" He walks past me, ruffling my hair as he goes. I collapse backwards on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and as I think of all the time that has been stolen from us I feel the tears pricking at my eyes again. Presently my father returns clutching two opened bottles, and I hastily sit up straight and wipe my face clear. He hands one of the bottles to me, chinks his own against mine and says, "Cheers," before knocking back a slug and sighing appreciatively.

I take a swig and almost have to spit it straight back out. It's simultaneously both bitter and sweet, wet and dry, and the bubbles shoot straight up the back of my throat. I look at my dad who chuckles at the sight. "You'll learn to love it," he says with a grin. I take a more cautious sip, still wincing at the taste, but at least I manage to hold it down. With each sip the taste becomes more bearable, and I am soon nearing the end of the bottle.

The alcohol is making me melancholy; dad clearly notices this to be the case as he takes the bottle from my hands, rests it on a table and sits on the bed next to me. He puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into a hug. I curl up on the bed and rest my head on his lap while he strokes my hair. He hasn't held me this way in years. If only there was a way to turn the clock back; to recapture those innocent years. "Tell me a story," I say.

The request seems to take him by surprise, "A story, you say? Hmmmm…. Did I ever tell you about the magic soup stone?"

"No," I say, as I close my eyes.

"Well, once upon a time in a far away land, a kindly young lad was trying to escape from the cruel kingdom he lived in. Where he lived all the people were selfish and greedy, and wouldn't lift a finger to help anyone else, but he'd heard of a neighbouring kingdom, where all the people were good and kind, and he knew that was where he wanted to live.  
He packed a bag with some food and all his money (which wasn't much) and he set out on his journey. His food ran out after he'd been walking for three days, but he still had a little money to buy more. The people in the kingdom were cruel, and seeing how desperate he was charged him over the odds, and soon his money ran out too. He was tired and hungry, and he stumbled from door to door begging for help, but the people just kept slamming the door in his face.  
He began to think all hope was lost, but he was clever and resourceful, and he thought of the land that awaited him and was determined he would get there. There was one last house to try before he would have to move on to the next town. As he stumbled towards it he noticed a smooth, round pebble on the floor which he picked up and put in his pocket.  
He knocked on the door, and a miserly, cold and wicked old woman answered the door. 'What do you want?' she demanded.  
'I was hoping to trade with you,' said the lad. 'I have here a magic stone that transforms water into soup. I'll show you how it works, and I will give you the stone in exchange for a single bowl of the soup that it makes.'  
Now of course the old woman was very sceptical of the young lad, and wanted proof that the stone did what he said it would…. You still with me, Peet?"

"Hmmm," I reply, "Just listening." I had been on the verge of falling asleep, but I don't want to miss this; this recreation of being a carefree child again, with no burdens and no responsibilities…. "Keep going."

"Where was I?"

"The woman wanted proof the stone was magic."

"Yes…. So, she invited him inside and told him to give her the stone. He handed it over to her and told her to fill a saucepan with water and place the stone inside. 'Now all you have to do is tell it clearly what kind of soup you want, and it will make it.' What do you reckon, Peet? What kind of soup will the stone make?"

"What did you make me the other day?"

"Leek and potato."

"Yeah. That."

"Leek and potato it is then. So the old woman leant over the saucepan and said in a clear voice, 'Leek and potato!' And she took a spoon and tasted the soup. 'This is just water with a stone in it!' she shouted at the young lad. She was furious, but the lad was quick and clever. 'Really?' he replied. He tasted it himself and said, 'Hmmmm, maybe it just needs a little seasoning. Maybe some salt and pepper to bring out the flavours.'  
So the old woman put salt and pepper in the saucepan, and the lad invited her to try it again. 'This is just water with a stone and some salt and pepper in it!' screeched the woman. The lad tried it again and said, 'Hmmmm. Maybe it just needs a little stock to round it out.'  
So the old woman put some stock in the saucepan, and the lad invited her to try it again. 'This is just water with a stone and some salt and pepper and stock in it!' screeched the old woman. The young lad tried it again and said, 'Hmmmmm. Maybe it just needs some onions, carrots, leeks and potatoes to flesh it out.'  
So the old woman busied herself peeling onions, chopping potatoes, slicing leeks and dicing carrots, and she put them all in the saucepan, and the young lad invited her to try it again. 'This is just water with a stone and some salt and pepper and stock and onions and carrots and leeks and potatoes in it!' she screeched. The young lad tried it again and said, 'Hmmmm. Maybe it just needs to be warmed up, nice and slowly.'  
So the old woman lit the stove and placed the saucepan on top, and under the careful instruction of the young lad, the saucepan slowly came to the boil but he told the old woman to be patient, as the stone needed time to really work its magic, and eventually her kitchen was filled with the delicious smell of fresh soup. 'It's a miracle!' she exclaimed as she served up a bowl for herself and another for the young lad. 'The stone really does work!'  
The boy ate every mouthful of his soup and bade her farewell, and as he walked down the road to the next town he spotted a smooth round pebble on the ground, which he picked up and put in his pocket."

I am almost asleep. "Did he ever m-make it to the other kingdom?" I ask while stifling a yawn.

"I'm sure of it."

"Good. Thanks, dad."

"Come on, son, sit up. You don't want to fall asleep in here." I force myself up in to an upright position . "There's something else I've been wanting to talk to you about," he says, and a serious tone has made its way back in to his voice. "Katniss."

My heart hammers furiously on the inside of my ribcage. "What about her?"

"Don't let her slip through your fingers, son. Don't push her away and spend your life regretting it."

"Are you…." I am unsure how to phrase what I want to say. "Are you saying you regret being with mum?"

"No! Oh, no, son, no, no, no…. She gave me you three, she gave me the best thing I ever did with my life! But you could have all that with the right woman, and I don't want you to throw that away. You should go to her."

"I don't know what to say to her."

"Say you're sorry."

"But I haven't done anything wrong!" I protest.

Dad laughs at this "Doesn't matter, she'll accept it and you'll be talking again, and before you know it she'll apologise for whatever has upset you. I guarantee it."

"I don't know if words can make it up. She….she really hurt me, dad." I hate how young and insecure this makes me sound.

"Then let her try to make it up to you with her actions. Don't just give up. Please. For me?" I nod briefly as dad pulls me into a hug once more. "Go to her," he says again.

I am ushered towards the exit with still no clear idea of what to say to her. My feet seem to be working on automatic pilot as I near her rooms; I couldn't turn around now if I tried. "Katniss?" I call out as I knock on her door. She opens the door almost immediately but remains silent. "May I come in?"

She stands back to allow me entry, and quietly closes the door behind me. Before I am even able to open my mouth she says, "Peeta, I'm sorry." She has thrown me. I don't know how to respond and I can't seem to make eye contact with her. "I thought you understood what I wanted, I thought I made it clear when I said I wanted my first time to be my choice. I'm sorry."

"I wanted you to want _me._ Not just that you had access to me. I wanted you to want to be with me."

"I know. I'm sorry."

There is a question I have to ask, one that has been plaguing me more than anything else. "Did you come to me because you knew I'd do what you wanted? Would you have preferred someone else?" I can't bring myself to say his name. "Please be honest with me."

She doesn't answer immediately, and this tells me everything I need to know. I try to walk past her to leave but she blocks my path. "Peeta, wait. It's not what you think."

"Did you ask him first?"

"No!"

"But you would have preferred him."

"No. I don't know what I want, Peeta. But I don't think of Gale like that. Not at all."

"And how do you think of me?"

Again she doesn't answer immediately. "You make me feel whole." She steps a little closer to me. "I was so frightened to lose you after your mother…. It felt like the better part of me was lying in that bed. It felt like….if you never woke up I'd never be whole again." She takes another small step towards me and rests her hand against my chest. My heart hammers against my ribcage at her touch. Her free hand slowly snakes up behind me as her fingers play with my hair at the nape of my neck. Unwittingly my eyes flutter closed and without realising how close she has come I feel her lips press in to mine, gently at first then increasing in urgency. My mind is torn. Do I respond or not? Is she playing me for a fool again, or does it require a near death experience to make her understand her own feelings? I take a chance on the latter and wrap my arms around her slender waist, pulling her as close to me as I can. In turn she responds by deepening our kiss, her tongue gently probing my own. I am certain that she must be able to feel my arousal pressing in to her, and this is confirmed when her hand drops to my erection, her fingers lightly running over me through my clothes.

It takes every last ounce I have of self-control to break away from her. "I can't," I manage to gasp out. "Not yet. Just give me time, ok?"

The look of disappointment on her face almost overrides my resolve to take things slower this time. "Ok," she says as she plants one last gentle kiss on my lips.

I head back to my own room to try and make sense of everything. I know that sleep will not come tonight; I am too fearful for my father's safety. Too confused about my feelings for Katniss, and about her feelings for me…. I turn the lights off and lie back on my bed watching the ceiling, feeling the gentle sway of the train, and dreading the inevitable arrival of morning.

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**A/N – I kinda felt Peeta deserved a little bit of a break after all the angst I've been putting him through, so here's a bittersweet fluffy chapter for you all.** **As you can imagine, it's not going to get easier with the Games coming up! Please leave a review as they make me write faster ;)**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N – Sorry for the wait for this chapter. It's been a manic week! I'm getting married next month and had a lot of organising to get done, then had a fiancé who happened to be suffering from the dreaded man-flu to look after, then we went away for the weekend and to top it all off, this happened to be a difficult chapter to write. I knew where it was heading, but wasn't sure how far to take it. Hope this is ok! Please R&R!**

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We have only been in the Capitol for a mere hour or so when a Peacekeeper approaches me to hand deliver the message. Katniss and I had been spending some time together in the botanical gardens, a beautiful area we had never had the chance to visit on our carefully structured and strict schedules before, but while dad and the other tributes were meeting Auricula, Venia and the other prep and stylists, we found ourselves with a rare few hours of downtime. Seeing how panicked I was becoming over the inevitable, Katniss took me away from the training centre to find a moment of calm.

How this Peacekeeper knew where to find us I don't know, but I recognise the handwriting on the envelope immediately, and it is with a sense of dread that I read the contents.

_I know you have a spare few hours while your tributes are in prep. Spend them with me._

"Let's go," says the Peacekeeper, gesturing ahead of him. I turn to Katniss for support but there is nothing she can do and we both know it. She kisses my cheek, squeezes my hand and whispers in my ear to be safe. "Let's go," repeats the Peacekeeper, louder this time. He appears twitchy and impatient; he is constantly looking around and only seems satisfied when it is clear we are alone.

The gardens are fenced in, with only four gated entrances. The training centre is to the south of the gardens, and Katniss and I entered by the nearest entrance. We are heading directly away from that entrance towards the northernmost gate. I steal a few glances over my shoulder and see that Katniss is still watching me as I walk away.

Knowing what to expect this time does not make it any easier. The thought of her touching me, of her hands on my body and of her lips on my own makes me shudder. The beauty of the gardens around me seems suddenly oppressive and so much at odds with the turmoil I feel.

We reach the gate and I am instructed to wait. The twitchy Peacekeeper darts outside, looks to either side then opens the door of the waiting hovercar. My stomach drops when I see it as all the memories of our last encounter come flooding back. "Inside. Quickly." I do as I am bid, and just like last time as soon as the door closes behind me I feel the hovercar taking off.

"Peeta!" Her voice sends shivers down my spine; just hearing it is enough to make my balls retreat. "So pleased you could join us!"

Us? It only seems to be myself and Briar present, unless of course she is talking about the Avox girl and the Peacekeeper. Somehow she doesn't strike me as the type to include them. My unasked question is quickly answered as Finnick Odair appears striding in from the bedroom. He is wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, and is dripping wet as if he has just stepped out of the shower. He walks straight up to Briar, picks her up and spins her in his arms as if she is a long lost lover and kisses her deeply. She giggles like a schoolgirl and returns the kiss, snaking her arms around his neck and waist and weaving her hands in his hair.

I feel incredibly awkward and out of place, as if I am witnessing something I shouldn't be, something private and illicit. I look back at the door of the hovercar, but we must now be hundreds of feet in the air, and there is nowhere to go. On top of the feelings of awkwardness, and the feeling of being trapped, there is something else. With Finnick here my ordeal won't be anywhere near as straightforward as before. I dread whatever she may have planned for me today.

Eventually Briar peels herself away from Finnick, gasping and breathless. "I think someone is a little overdressed," she says, directing the statement at me. I don't want to; I feel terribly inadequate and self conscious next to Finnick's sculptured body but I know that protesting will do me no favours.

I begin to unbutton my shirt, fumbling as ever as I get more and more nervous. Out of the corner of my eye I see Briar smirking at me. "Finnick?" she says. "Help him."

He is behind me in an instant, leaning over my shoulder and pulling apart the buttons in seconds. The water from his hair drips down the back of my neck making me shudder, as his hands push the fabric of my shirt away from my shoulders and down my arms. Briar steps before me, gently raking those hideous fingernails down my chest. I have to bite hard on my lip as one of them catches on my nipple, sending a sharp jolt of pain through me. I am determined not to cry out, or show her my distress. I just want to get through this as quickly as possible. She pulls my head towards hers and I part my lips as she thrusts her tongue into my mouth. The mantra I used to get through this before starts up again. _It'll be over soon, just focus. It'll be over soon._

She pulls away from me and pushes hard on my chest. I'm caught off guard and stumble back, collapsing in to the sofa behind me. She climbs on top, straddling my lap, "Strawberries!" she calls out, and moments later Finnick hands her a punnet of giant, gleaming red, jewel-like strawberries. She picks one up and bites the end, the juice running down her chin in blood-like rivulets. She runs the half eaten strawberry over my lips, gently pressing it into my mouth. I have never tasted anything so sickly sweet – these are nothing like the tart wild strawberries that grow at home; these are clearly Capitol engineered monstrosities. I place a fake smile on my face to indicate I enjoyed it. She seems satisfied and 'rewards' me with another kiss.

"Finnick?" she purrs in a low voice. "Take over for me."

What? What does she mean? She clambers off of my lap and disappears into her bedroom. Moments later she is replaced by Finnick's larger, muscular frame. I struggle to push him off of me but he easily pins me in place. During my ineffectual struggle his towel has come undone and I can't help but look at his nakedness. Shit. I try to push him away from me again. I'd always been quite proud of what nature had bestowed upon me but…. Shit. I don't want that….thing…..anywhere near me. I am beyond terrified of what she plans to do with us both and put all my strength into throwing him off me, but it isn't enough. A tear escapes the corner of one of my eyes. "Please…." I manage to say before he cuts me off.

"Don't struggle. It'll be easier if you don't struggle." I increase my efforts to get him off me. I don't want it to be easier. I don't want any of this at all. I hear the click of a Peacekeeper gun and Finnick calls out, "It's ok. He's just a little over excited, that's all."

He grasps both of my wrists in his hands, pins them back to the sofa and leans his weight in to me. I cannot move at all, and the dawning horror of what will happen to me freezes me to the spot. I feel his breath, hot on my neck, as his lips raise to beside my ear. "How old are you?" he whispers.

"S-seventeen," I whisper back.

He lets out a low hiss of air. "Then stop struggling, and stop worrying."

He sits up and flashes me a small half smile and a wink. At that moment Briar comes back into the room. She is wearing nothing but an evil smile and a very thin camisole. "Well, don't you two look cosy? Stand up, both of you." Finnick does so immediately, re-wrapping the towel about his waist as stands. It takes me a moment or two to find the strength and willpower to obey.

She stands in front of us, eyeing us both up and down, then seats herself on one of the sofas. "Kiss."

I'm frozen again. Even Finnick seems to pause for a moment before he grabs hold of me and spins me round to face him. One arm snakes around my waist and pulls me closer to him while the other hand rests at the back of my head. He tilts his face down towards mine and presses his lips against mine. Everything feels so alien; the hard angles of his body, the stubble on his chin rubbing against my own face, the strength in the arms that hold me.

_It'll be over soon. You're ok. Hold it together. It'll be over soon._

I take a deep sigh of relief when he finally lets go of his hold on me; it takes a moment to catch my breath. "Very nice," says Briar in a soft voice. "But, Peeta, don't keep trying my patience. Respond to him."

Once again I feel Finnick's body press in to mine, his mouth encompassing my own. I place my hands on his shoulders and try to respond to the sensations of his tongue probing my own, but all I can think of is how trapped I am in this hovercar, and how much I just want to get back to the ground.

"Stop!" calls Briar. "OK, we'll just have to try something else." She smirks and says with venom, "Get on your knees, Peeta."

Is she serious? Please don't let this be what I think it is. She wants me to…. Oh god, no, please….Why is she getting so much pleasure from watching my degradation? Before I can protest at all Finnick says, "Ahhh, gonna have to stop you there, Miss B."

She looks at Finnick incredulously. "I beg your pardon?"

"No can do, Miss B. Kid's underage. He's seventeen. Age of consent for sexual relations between two men is eighteen. You know me. I'll do some pretty weird shit. But I won't break the law." He says the last sentence pointedly, and for a moment Briar blanches.

"You were happy to kiss him."

"Kissing's one thing. Getting a child to suck my dick is another."

She is still and silent for a moment before she points towards the bedroom and says in a voice of forced calm, "Get in there, both of you."

"Threesomes count as sexual relations too, even if we don't go near each other. If you want us both it'll have to be individually if you want to stay on the right side of the law." She looks utterly furious, but Finnick just continues to smile pleasantly at her. I can hardly breathe. Have I managed to somehow escape, for now at least?

Her face has darkened as she turns to Finnick. "You then. Now."

He surreptitiously flashes me another wink before scooping Briar up in his arms, throwing her over his shoulder and striding towards the bedroom. I collapse back on the sofa, head in my hands. I'm shaking from the effort of keeping my tears silent. From the noises that soon start to come from the adjacent room Finnick has improved her mood somewhat, giving more credence to Haymitch's stories about her mercurial temper.

I don't know how long I am sat there listening to the sounds of moaning, groaning and screaming orgasms. This whole other world I never knew of or even dreamed could have existed, and I am being forced to dwell in it. The kinkiest fantasy I had ever had about Katniss involved taking her from behind while she was on her hands and knees. I masturbated furiously over the image in my mind then when I next saw her felt guilty for what I had been imagining. From what I can hear coming from behind that closed door, even my dirtiest thoughts are pure by comparison.

Eventually the door opens and out walks Briar. Her spiked hair is dishevelled, she is wrapped in a sheet and her eyes seem glazed and unfocused. She lights a cigarette and exhales a vile, pungent smelling cloud of smoke. "I don't know why I wanted you at all," she says suddenly. "You are nothing compared to him." I stay silent, unsure how to respond, or even if I should at all. "See. Won't even stand up for yourself. You're not a man. You'll never be a man."

I allow her to keep insulting me. I don't care. If it means I never have to spend another second in her presence I'll allow her to insult me as much as she wants. If there's one thing I learned how to do young, it was to switch off when an older woman was telling me how pathetic I am.

As Finnick comes out of the bedroom fully clothed she looks back at my naked torso in something akin to disgust. "Get dressed, boy."

I find my discarded shirt and pull it back on as fast as I can, and as I do I feel the hovercar begin to descend. When at last the door reopens and we find ourselves back at the Capitol's botanical gardens it takes all my self restraint not to run back outside to the relative freedom. Finnick bids adieu to Briar with a final lingering kiss and the promise of seeing her again. She doesn't even look at me as I leave. I'm more than fine with that.

I begin to trudge back through the gardens towards the training centre, when I hear Finnick's voice behind me. "Peeta, wait up!" He jogs to catch up with me. "It gets easier, I promise."

I don't want to hear advice like this; I don't want the confirmation that my life from now on is to be used and abused however the highest bidder sees fit. "I don't want it to get easier. I don't want to lose who I am."

"I know, but I don't reckon you want to lose your loved ones either, am I right?"

There is nothing to say. Of course he is right, and I nod tight confirmation.

He looks troubled, as if there is something he wants to say but is unsure of himself. "Look, Peeta…" he begins, "I don't think you have too much to worry about. Well… aside from Briar."

"What do you mean?"

"How many offers have you had?"

"Offers?"

"Yeah. Aside from just now, and the night the Quell was announced, how many other clients have you had?"

"None."

He keeps looking around, as if to make sure we aren't being overheard. "I thought that may be the case."

"How do you even know-"

"About that first night?" he cuts me off. "I was there, don't forget. When we get….paid for….the money goes directly to the Capitol coffers, but the clients still have to go through our District Reps to book us. Troya, our Rep, fucked up. So she took a backhander from Briar which she split with your Rep to introduce her to you. I don't think the Capitol know."

My hope lifts for a moment. "So… she can't do this then?"

He shakes his head sadly. "I didn't say that. She's rich, powerful and well connected. She can do pretty much whatever she wants. But you probably won't have to worry about sleeping with anyone with a bit of spare cash. I don't think you or your missus are officially for sale."

"We're not for sale? And she doesn't want me back, she made that pretty clear."

"Peeta, she gets off on this. She loves to pull mind games. She's not buying you legally, so she'll do whatever she can to keep you scared. She can still influence people, and she could easily pay for…accidents….to happen."

That hope that had appeared for a moment flickers and dies. "Thank you for… you know… stopping it just now."

He shrugs. "S'ok. Knowing her she'll still make me fuck you one day." The bluntness of the way he says it, so detached, stops me in my tracks. He grins and winks at me. "You could do worse than me!" Seeing that I'm not appreciating the joke he apologises. "Sorry, mate. The first time is the worst, but it really does get easier."

"You mean, you've-"

"Had it up my arse? Yup. Many times. As I said, the first was the hardest. Wasn't really how I'd planned spending my eighteenth birthday. With some dirty old man who had to take drugs to get it up, then made me suck his wrinkled cock, and as soon as he could get it up again bent me over his desk and fucked me. Made me take a piss in his face afterwards."

I'm shocked at his frank descriptions of the seedy underworld of the Capitol, but more shocked by the fact that he seems so unfazed by it all. "How do you do it, Finnick?"

He shrugs again. "By understanding that if I don't it'll be far, far worse."

We are almost back at the training centre. My mind is in utter turmoil, as the fear I feel at the immediate and distant future is almost entirely overshadowed by the dawning comprehension that Katniss probably won't have to face the horrors that I do.

Finnick's voice breaks through my thoughts once again. "For what it's worth, Peeta, you don't deserve this." He claps his hand on my shoulder. "Good luck at the Games, eh?"

He strides past me, leaving me alone in the Gardens, with nothing but my apprehension and fear for company.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N – Another slow update, sorry folks. I know when I first started the updates were coming pretty much every day, but I simply don't have time at the moment to write every single day! I will do my best to keep them to once a week though, as these last two have been. Please R & R!**

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Time has been behaving oddly ever since watching my father and the other tributes being presented to the Capitol, Portia and Cinna's outfits making them look like glowing embers. Dad was sharing a carriage with Ava, his arm around her shoulder as he offered her moral support. Mrs Undersee got no such support from Rafe Cronin. Her knuckles were visibly white as she clutched on to the carriage for dear life.

Since then the few hours I have been able to spend with dad have passed by in the blink of an eye, while his time going from station to station in training has dragged by, as if the world itself has stopped. During these long hours I have waited with baited breath for another summons from Briar. The anxiety of waiting and not knowing is hellish. So far nothing but I am sure it will just be a matter of time.

Katniss has stuck to her promise of taking things slowly again. During our down time we walk together, we talk, and she'll hold my hand if I offer it to her first. She hasn't invited herself into my rooms at night, and my sleeping patterns have been suffering as a result. I haven't told her what Briar expected of me and Finnick. I don't think I could stand the look of mixed horror and sympathy. At least I was able to relay to her that she was unlikely to end up in the same situation as me. She demanded to know why and how I knew this, but I asked her to drop it, and as yet she hasn't mentioned it again.

Dad has been in training now for the last couple of days. He promises that he has been following my advice to stick to the survival stations, to learn about edible plants (which was so very nearly my own downfall,) and to keep himself to himself. Today the tributes are having their private sessions with the gamemakers. The atmosphere is nervous and expectant. It is over our lunchtime meal that he drops the bombshell.

"There's a boy from District Five," he says suddenly without looking up from his meal. "Only twelve years old. Reminds me of you." He tears a piece of bread and uses it to mop up the remains of his stew. "I'm going to help him win."

The silence between us could be cut with a knife. We are eating at a separate table, a small way away from the others, and I look around to make sure he hasn't been overheard. "Dad, you can't-"

"I can do whatever I want. He's just a boy, Peet. He's scared, and I'm going to help him."

"But, dad-"

"No. I've made my decision. There's nothing more to be said on the matter. I just thought you should know. I wonder if we can get some more of that apple tart we had last night."

"Don't change the subject, dad, you-"

He finally looks up at me. "Peeta, listen to me. That little boy just wants to get home to his mum and dad. He doesn't have a chance without help, and if I'm not going to do it, who will?"

"Fuck, dad-"

"Language," he says warningly.

"Sorry," I mumble. "But, dad -please don't interrupt," I say as my father opens his mouth to speak again, "I can't just watch you die. Please…."

He smiles at me sadly. "You were willing to die, weren't you? It was so obvious to everyone watching last year. It was heartbreaking for me to watch."

"Then you know how I feel now then!"

"And you know how I feel too." He looks around to check we aren't being listened to. "I won't let them change me, Peet." He leans back in his chair and folds his arms. "If you want to help me help him, it's up to you, but you won't change my mind."

It is very clear that as far as he is concerned the conversation is over. I am not finished yet, however. "You have a family too, you know," I say quietly.

He shakes his head. "I have three grown up sons and a wife who hasn't loved me for years. You boys don't need me anymore. You're all quite capable of looking out for yourselves. And she certainly doesn't need me. I've made my mind up, Peet. I'm going to do my damndest to protect that little boy." The silence between us begins to drag, until dad breaks it, speaking in a voice that could almost be described as cheerful, although I know it is entirely forced. "So, what can I expect this afternoon? Any advice?"

I shrug. "Try and show them something they haven't seen. Which seeing as you'll be almost last in, is going to be difficult."

The child tributes have been with the gamemakers all morning. The adults will be going in after lunch. Hopefully having a break in the day will stop the gamemakers from being so disinterested in the afternoon tributes. It was bad enough being last for myself and Katniss last year, but coming at the end of nearly fifty other tributes, Mrs Undersee and dad hardly have a chance.

"Well," says dad, "I'm sure I'll think of something. Chin up, son." He stands up and walks past me, ruffling my hair as he goes, the way he always has since I was a child. The physical contact breaks my heart, but I notice Rafe Cronin watching us and I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing how difficult this is for me. He already has a smug look on his face, and I'm sure he must have impressed the gamemakers somehow, but I have no desire to find out exactly what he has done.

Time this afternoon slows down to an impossible standstill. I keep checking the clock expecting a half hour, or at the very least a quarter hour to have passed, and each time only a few minutes have dragged by. When I am seated all I want to do is stand, walk, pace, do anything to keep myself occupied but as soon as I am up I am overcome with exhaustion and collapse in to the nearest seat.

Katniss has been watching my distress, and wordlessly she takes my hand in her own and leads me away from this waiting area. I am incapable of resisting, and don't care where she takes me; anything is better than this.

She stops walking when we are in a deserted corridor of the training centre before turning to me and placing her hands on my chest. "I'm sorry this is happening to you. I'm here. If you need me, I'm here."

I try to answer her but at first my voice catches in my throat. "I know," I eventually manage to choke out.

"How is he?" she asks.

I close my eyes and wrap my arms around her, pulling her close to me. "He's saying he won't save himself."

"I thought he might."

I open my eyes and loosen my hold on her. "What do you mean?"

"You're his son, Peeta. You had to get that noble streak from somewhere, and, no offence, it certainly wasn't from your mother." I pull her closer again. "Let me guess," she says, her voice sending vibrations through my chest. "He wants to team up with that blond kid from Five?"

"How'd you-?"

"During the recap of the Reapings, when his name was drawn out. I saw your dad tear up. It's pretty obvious why, Peeta. He looks like a miniature you."

"How didn't I see-?"

"I think your mind has been elsewhere. Understandably."

I feel the familiar pricking behind my eyes and rapidly try to blink away the tears. "I don't want him to die," I say.

"I know," she answers simply.

I bury my face into the crook of her neck and inhale her scent; a heady mix of woodsmoke and cut grass, that no amount of Capitol soaps or lotions can truly hide. Her hands work their way up my back and I wish with every fibre of my being that we could just be, just for one day, normal. That we could be back home, that the Capitol didn't hold such sway over the lives of everyone in general, and us in particular. I wonder what it would have been like if neither mine, Prim's or my father's names had ever come out of those damn Reaping balls. I would have continued to watch her from afar, as she grew closer and closer to Gale, maybe one day I would have taken a wife I didn't really love, but we would all have been safe. Free.

Free… but miserable. In an alternate world of relative safety, I would have watched Katniss fall in love with another man. It would have destroyed me just as surely as my current existence is. Maybe true happiness is not something that is written in my destiny, in this or any other world.

No. Finnick told me I didn't deserve this miserable existence. Katniss said she wished this wasn't happening to me. They're right. I am due some happiness, dammit. I just need to…to forget everything, just for a while. I tighten my grip on her, and plant gentle kisses on the exposed skin of her neck. She sighs into me and stretches her neck further so there is more skin for me to kiss. "Peeta…" she breathes, her voice barely even a whisper. I cup her face in my hand and tilt her towards me while capturing her lips in my own. Her lips part gently in response and her hands work their way into my hair, holding me steady. She lightly grazes her teeth over my bottom lip and despite all my reservations about wanting to take it slowly my arousal burns within in me as my cock hardens. She feels so impossibly soft and warm against me and I want more than nothing else to be a part of that warmth, to claim it for my own, and to lose myself within her.

Our kisses become deeper, more passionate and more desperate. She pushes on my chest, manoeuvring me backwards until I am pinned to the wall, where she pulls my shirt from the waistband of my trousers and slips her hand inside to brush across my stomach. My own hands drop to her waist for a moment, before I find the courage to drop them even lower, squeezing her perfect buttocks, and eliciting a throaty moan from her. I want her now; I want to feel every inch of her body against mine, I want to hear her screaming my name and urging me on, I want to watch her come and I want her to bring me to release. I want to feel her lips on me, around me. I want nothing else in the world but this woman.

"Peeta! Katniss!" comes the familiar screech of Effie, breaking the wondrous spell we have cast over ourselves, and I inwardly curse the day that bloody woman was born. "I've been looking all over for you!"

Katniss slowly pulls away from me but she holds my gaze. Her pupils are dilated, her cheeks flushed, her lips pink and swollen. Disappointment is etched in every line of her face, mirroring my own bitter sense of sadness at our interruption. Effie's voice drifts in from outside our bubble, ordering us back, that the tributes will be finished with their private sessions any moment. I can't tear my eyes away from Katniss' perfect face. Our breathing is laboured and every nerve on my body is on fire. I don't want to go back to the real world. For one brief moment reality had been suspended and it was blissful. Katniss stands on her tiptoes, and gently tips my head forward, planting a fluttering kiss on my forehead before pulling away from my arms. Taking my hand in her own, we make the trek back towards the waiting area.

We are all sat together, watching the announcements of the final scores. I try to pay more attention to the other tributes than I did when they were first displayed to the Capitol. Up until now I have been trying to delay the reality of what they are up against, but if I am going to help my dad I need to start facing this head on.

The typical nines and tens for all of District One. None of them look especially threatening, but with those scores they cannot be underestimated. Tens for all of District Two, except the adult male, who has scored an eleven. Easy to see why. He is a hulking brute of a man with a hard, pitiless face. He wouldn't have had to do much to attract the favour of the gamemakers. Average scores for District Three. Average to high for District Four. And then I catch my first real glimpse of this boy from District Five and my heart stops. He could easily be my younger brother. Blond curls frame piercing blue eyes. He is only twelve and is small for his age. The announcer declares his name as Yohan Fairbain, followed by his pitiful score of five, the lowest score yet.

I look at dad; he is purposely avoiding my eyes but I can see the tears behind his own gaze coupled with his determination to follow through with his idea to protect this child.

It's all I can do to hold in my own shuddering sigh, and I am barely aware of the scores of the rest of the tributes. I see why dad wants to protect this boy, I really do, but how is it going to be possible, and at the same time how can he expect me to watch him die?

I have clearly been lost in my own thoughts, as Katniss nudges me and brings me back to the present. The District Twelve scores are being announced. Rafe Cronin scores a ten. As Effie claps a hand on his shoulder and enthuses about how wonderful it is, he flashes me a smirk, and I know precisely what he is thinking. If nothing else goes in the favour of my father or myself, I pray that Cronin doesn't get to dad first. I couldn't bear it. Next up is Ava Herriot who has managed a seven, which she seems relieved with. "I didn't think they were watching me at all," she breathes as Katniss hugs her. My father next. My heart leaps to my throat as his picture comes up on the screen. He has scored an eight. Not bad at all. I let out a breath I didn't realise I was holding as dad flings an arm around my shoulders. Just Mrs Undersee to go. A sharp intake of breath as her score flashes up on the screen. A four, the lowest score of all forty eight tributes.

A terse silence follows; after the success of our other tributes, the four that Mrs Undersee has earned feels like a stab to the stomach. Effie, oblivious as always to the feelings of everyone around her, breaks the silence with, "A ten, Rafe! Maybe District Twelve will have another winner this year!" Anger bubbles up inside me and I need to get away before I smack her. As I storm away I hear her indignation followed by Haymitch's voice say warningly, "Leave it, Trinkett."

I leave the Training Centre and head outside. The carnival atmosphere has returned to the Capitol, as the first day of the Games draws ever nearer. Fireworks are going off all over the city and in the distance music is playing. Celebratory shouts can be heard as the first round of betting is sure to have commenced.

I lean back against the cool stone wall of the Training Centre and take several deep, steadying breaths. The noise of the city won't allow me to think clearly. After a few moments the Centre door opens and Katniss joins me in my contemplation of the denizens of the Capitol.

"Your dad wanted to come after you, but they won't allow him outside," she says while reaching down to hold my hand. I swallow down the lump that has appeared in my throat. "And you shouldn't take what Effie says to heart, you know that." I nod my head but don't speak. "Do you want to be alone?" she asks.

"I don't even know any more," I answer with a sigh.

"Sit with me," she says, dropping to the hard floor, leaning back against the wall. I do as she asks and lean my head down on her shoulder. She strokes the side of my cheek and says, "For better or worse, it'll be over soon. I know that's no comfort but…."

She stops speaking, the implications of what she is saying hanging in the air over us. Tomorrow we will coach the tributes on their interviews, and the following day they will be in the Arena. As Katniss says, it will all be over soon.

Her touch on my face is soft and warm, and I close my eyes, draping my arm over her waist. "Can we just live in this moment?" I ask her quietly. I don't want time to keep marching onwards. I want it to stop and to just spend eternity in her embrace.

The temperature begins to drop, a chill wind penetrating our thin clothes, but I don't want to be the one to break apart from her. Eventually Haymitch appears towering over us. "Come on, you lovebirds. Inside."

In silence we stand, shivering slightly, and we follow Haymitch back inside. We reach my room first, and Katniss kisses me goodnight. "Stay with me," I whisper to her, and she nods her understanding.

We crawl under the sheets together, and I spoon her back, the warmth of her delicate frame my only source of comfort. I make no demands of her other than her presence and I feel myself drifting off to sleep for the first time since we returned to the Capitol.


	13. Chapter 13

I wake up in my old bedroom above the bakery. There is not a single sound coming from anywhere, and the silence is oppressive. I climb out of bed and make my way downstairs. Something is very, very wrong.

There is blood literally everywhere. It covers the floors, the walls, the furniture. Long lines of blood cling to the outside of the clay ovens. I don't know where it has come from. I look at my feet; they are bare and as I walk through the sticky and rapidly congealing blood I leave footprints as I go.

Panic wells up in my chest. Whose blood is this? How did it get here? Why is there so much?

I realise that there is a body slumped over the kitchen table. Blond hair is visible amongst the darkening red. With trepidation I move closer to examine the face.

It is my brother, Kern. His throat has been cut, his blue eyes still open but clouded over, never to see again. I stumble backwards, nearly skidding over in the process, and I cry out but no sound escapes my throat. I nearly fall over a second body. Rhees's back is covered in stab wounds, his eyes still open but like Kern's, blank and unseeing.

I try to run out of the front door but the blood on the floor acts like tar. My limbs fight to move me through space. Eventually I stumble outside, and what I see elicits another silent scream from me.

There are bodies everywhere. I know, or at least recognise, all these people; school friends, neighbours, customers… All of them staring with their blank eyes as blood pours from wounds to their necks, chests and stomachs.

My heart stops. In the distance I can hear a voice calling my name. Someone here is still alive.

I move amongst the bodies as fast as my limbs will allow. My feet are treading a familiar path to the town square, and as I draw ever closer the knot of anxiety in my stomach increases. The blood on the floor here is fresher and has not yet started to dry. Two figures are laying huddled together in the middle of the square, one male and one female. I try to pick up the pace to get to them but my limbs still feel restricted. As I get closer I drop to my knees, in amongst the blood of the fallen, as I recognise them. Katniss and Haymitch, blood still seeping from their open throats. Katniss looks at me and blinks slowly. She is still alive. I tear off my shirt and try to staunch the flow. I want to tell her I will help her but I am still unable to make a sound. She blinks once more and as her eyes open something passes from them, and she too is gone.

As I collapse over her body I hear my name once again, coming from behind me. I stand up and my father is running towards me, calling for me. There is panic in his eyes. He stops running abruptly and looks down at his chest as a red stain spreads across his shirt originating from a point over his heart. He drops to the floor and behind him, dripping knife in hand, is Rafe Cronin. Cronin looks up at me and begins running, inhumanly fast.

I try to run from him, but the tar-like blood holds me in place. He pounces on me and together we come crashing to the floor, and I feel the heat of my own blood pouring from my wounds as the knife comes down again and again and again…..

* * *

"Peeta! Peeta, wake up! Please!"

The voice I can hear registers but it is impossible. She's dead. I watched her die….

"Peeta! Can you hear me?"

But then… Surely I am dead too? I could never have survived such an onslaught….

"Peeta! Please wake up!"

I slowly open my eyes. It is still dark and I am looking up in to Katniss's distressed face as understanding floods in on me. "I was dreaming?" I ask thickly.

She nods. "You were thrashing around. I tried to wake you but I couldn't."

The bed sheets are twisted around my feet and I am covered in cold sweat, but the overwhelming feeling is of relief. "You're alive," I breathe as I reach out to touch her, still not sure if this is real. Her face feels warm under my clammy touch. She doesn't shy away from me and returns the touch, pushing my sweaty hair out of my eyes and away from my face.

"I'm alive," she confirms with a small smile.

I need her close to me and I gently pull her to me. She lies down with her head on my shoulder, and her arm draped over my chest. My heart is still pounding and my breathing shallow from the nightmare, but having Katniss in such close proximity helps ground me to reality. "Thank you," I whisper into her hair.

"For what?" she asks.

"For still being alive. Thank you. For being here."

"I don't plan on going anywhere just yet."

"Good. That's good."

I idly trail my fingers up and down her back. She is wearing one of my shirts which is completely oversized on her, her underwear and nothing else. Despite the images from my nightmares that keep swimming to the surface of my mind, it is not lost on me how insanely erotic this is.

I shiver from cold as the sweat I was drenched in begins to dry. "You ok?" asks Katniss.

"Cold," I reply. My t-shirt is sticking to me, adding another level of discomfort to the mounting chill.

She sits up and gets off the bed. I moan in protest at her departure, but she heads to a drawer, and finds a clean, dry t-shirt, and returns to me. "Sit up," she says gently. I do as she says, and she tugs the wet t-shirt over my head. The tips of her fingers pass over my bare skin sending a jolt of electricity through my body, as my breath catches. The memories of our kiss earlier today come crashing to the surface, and in this moment I need her again.

She is just about to help me get the clean shirt on but I hold her wrist and stop her. "Katniss?" I whisper. Everything I want to say to her is in those two syllables and she clearly understands. She drops the shirt and reaches for my face, pulling me to her waiting lips. Her kisses are much surer than earlier; there is no hesitation as she opens her mouth to me, her tongue darting across my own.

She is leading the pace and I am more than happy to follow. She swiftly straddles my lap and looks down at me, her eyes burning with desire. My shirt half hangs from her, exposing a single shoulder. I have to see more. I lick my lips and indicate the buttons. "May I?" I ask. She smiles and nods and I undo each one, taking my time, and revelling in the slow reveal of her flesh.

It is still dark, but there is just enough moonlight for me to see the gentle swell of her breasts and I cup one in my hand. Her pebbled nipple grazes my palm and I rub my thumb across it, marvelling at the gasps and moans this causes Katniss to produce. She tries to shrug my opened shirt off but I stop her. "Leave it on," I say, and I am amazed by how heavy my voice sounds. Seeing her almost naked but still wearing my shirt…. It is the most alluring sight I could ever imagine. She smiles bashfully and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. I pull her towards me, and kiss her with all the desperation I can muster. Her breasts press in to my bare chest and I capture each moan she makes in my mouth. Her hips grind into me, my already hard cock pulsing and twitching impatiently with every movement.

She plants a lingering kiss on my lips, gently nibbling my bottom lip as she pulls away. She seems to be considering something for a moment, before she makes her mind up and lightly climbs off of me. "Katniss?" I ask, needing her contact again.

"Just a second," she replies. She appears to be rooting through the pockets of her trousers which had been folded up and left on a chair. After a moment she removes a blister pack that contains a single pill which she dry swallows.

"What are you-?"

"Ummm, don't be cross… When we got back here I went to one of the med bays. I asked for something that would stop me… you know….. just in case… I wasn't planning for anything! It was only just in case…."

"You mean, we can….?"

She nods and my heart skips as she straddles me, once again capturing my lips in a deep, penetrating kiss. "What do you want?" she asks me, her voice thick with desire. It nearly pushes me over the edge.

"You," I answer honestly.

She places gentle kisses down my neck, along my collarbone, on my Adam's apple. I close my eyes and sigh as each touch of her lips sends jolts of pleasure running through me. "Where do you want me?" she whispers in my ear, before she sits up and grinds into me again.

I try to quash my desire to take her here and now as much as possible. I want this to last as long as it possibly can. "Show me what you like first."

She encourages me back on the bed, then she lies down next to me. She is still wearing my unbuttoned shirt, and I prop myself up on my elbow to better take the splendour of her in. She takes my hand in her own and slips it under the waistband of her underwear. As my fingers slide in between her folds she gasps, but she pushes my hand lower, tracing gentle circles on the back of my fingers. I mimic her movements precisely and she removes her own hand which comes up to cup one of her breasts, while the other grips on to the bed sheets.

"You are so beautiful," I whisper to her in the darkness. I am longing for her to touch me but watching her squirm under my touch is such delicious torture that I am more than willing to wait.

Soon her hips begin to buck as her breathing becomes faster and more shallow. "Faster," she gasps, and I oblige. "Oh fuck… oh Peeta, yes…Yes!" she screams out and I capture her scream in my mouth, while exploring her with my tongue. I keep the pressure on her swollen clit, daring to dip a finger inside her. She tries to push my hand away but I have never seen anything more beautiful than watching her come and I want to watch her again. I try a second finger inside her, and use my thumb to circle over her clit the way she showed me she likes. She is so warm and wet and open to my touch and her moans soon increase in intensity again. As she comes a second time she cries, "Please….stop….just for a minute…" as she pushes my hand away from her sensitivity.

I drink in the sight of her; hair splayed across the pillows, her breast heaving as she tries to catch her breath. "Katniss…." I whisper in her ear, "I really need you."

She nods her assent and I shrug off my boxers as quickly as I can. She raises her hips off the bed allowing me to remove her underwear then she opens her legs to me so I am able to position myself over her, slowly pushing in to the pulsing heat of her core. "Shit, Peeta," she chokes out.

"What is it?" I ask, terrified she's going to deny me again.

"Nothing…just…. Really _really _sensitive. Go slow, ok?"

"Ok," I reply, placing a soft kiss upon her lips. I settle in between her legs, allowing her to get used to the feeling of our union. She runs her hands up and down my back, then my heart stops for a moment as she places her hands over my bum and pulls me even further inside. I take that as an invitation to move, and I slowly begin to pull in and out of her. Each gasp and sigh from her is like a gift from heaven, and as she begins to rock her hips in encouragement I take the cue to go a little faster. I hitch her leg up around my waist so I can go even deeper. It doesn't take long before I feel the familiar pressure begin to build inside me. Shit. I wanted this to last longer…but she just feels so damn good, so hot and tight and wet…. "Katniss…" I breathe, "I'm gonna….fuck…..I'm gonna come…" She buries her hands in my hair and pulls me down to kiss her just my universe explodes into stars; pleasure crashes through me like a wave and I collapse on top of her. My breathing is ragged and my heart is pounding. "Thank you," I whisper to her. "That was… thank you." I gently pull out of her, the action of which causes her to whimper slightly. I find the sheets that have been twisted up at the end of the bed and pull them up to cover us both.

"Come to me," she whispers, her arms outstretched to me. She cradles me in her arms as I rest my head just above her breast. She plants little kisses on the crown of my head, and the steady drum of her heartbeat soon sends me back to a restful, dreamless sleep.

* * *

This last day before the Games begin tomorrow has been another testament to how fast time flies by when I would give anything for it to slow down.

I awoke in Katniss's arms, more comfortable and well rested than I remember being in a long time. We stayed in each other's embrace until the last possible moment, when we were finally sent for.

Haymitch dismissed Katniss early in the day, saying, "No offence, sweetheart, you aint the person to teach them to talk." She tried to protest, and playfully pushed me away when I laughed at her reaction but I think she was secretly grateful; she knows this isn't her forte.

The afternoon blazes by in a whirl of conversation and advice. Dad needs only be himself; Haymitch has declared him sufficiently enough like me to be able to deal with a simple interview. Ava is a bundle of nerves but is sweet, pretty enough and likeable; we manage to convince her that with the help she will get from Caesar she will have the Capital eating out of the palm of her hand. Cronin hardly needs advice; he's going for the arrogant route. With his score of ten and his naturally haughty demeanour Haymitch thinks he will be able to garner the attention of some of the more bloodthirsty sponsors. Mrs Undersee remains somewhat problematic. Since receiving her score of four an unnatural calm has washed over her. She is no longer to be found constantly drying her eyes, or clutching at her own head. Every time we have tried to speak to her she has dismissed us and ignored everything we say. "I'm the wife of a Mayor," she says contemptuously. "I don't need advice on public speaking from a baker or a drunk."

Haymitch shrugs and leaves her to it. He tells me it's pointless getting wound up as she's going to die either way. I'm furious that he could just abandon someone so thoroughly to an undeserved fate. "Get used to it," is the only instruction he gives me.

In the blink of an eye the tributes are back with their prep teams and stylists. A little over sixteen hours left until they enter the Arena. Then before I know it the interviews are beginning. A little over fourteen hours until the start. Where is time vanishing to?

I try to pay attention to the interviews to scope out the competition but it leaves me feeling worse. Cassius, the District Two tribute who scored an eleven talks about what an honour it is to be able to fight; how he had wanted to volunteer as a child but someone else had always got in first. He talks about how grateful he is that he kept up weight training and sword practise, and that he will finally get to be able to use it all.

The feeling of dread is compacted during the boy from Five's interview. Yohan is humble yet hopeful. He talks about his home life and how he promised his dad he would do his very best to come home again. My own father's resolve is bound to be strengthened watching this. Part of me almost hopes he is killed by someone else before dad can find him. I hate myself for thinking in such a way.

As predicted, Ava charms the Capital audiences with her humble innocence. She is dressed in a simple white lace summer dress, and as she steps out on to the stage the bright lights catch her blond her, illuminating her like an ethereal being.

Rafe's interview also goes exactly as planned. He describes his work in the butcher's shop; how carving up the tributes is going to be just the same as carving up meat. I feel nauseous as he talks; all he needs is a knife and he really will be a force to be reckoned with. By the end of his interview the Capitol audience are cheering his name.

Mrs Undersee is up next. She is aloof throughout her interview, except for one moment when Caesar talks about the previous Quell. He mentions her sister. _Her sister?_ Her sister died in the previous Quell? How did none of us know this until now? Did….did Haymitch kill her, perhaps? My stomach knots painfully at the thought. I had never really thought of Haymitch being a killer. I sometimes forget that being a Victor generally means being a killer. I am one of the very few exceptions rather than the rule… A few years back I remember a girl winning purely because she was the best swimmer, after the Arena flooded. She didn't actually kill anybody either. But the vast majority of winners do so because they are both brutal and unforgiving. At the mention of her long dead sister, Mrs Undersee's mask slips for the briefest of moments. "Maysilee," she whispers, before regaining her self-control. "I know exactly how I'll be escaping the Arena," she says, and her words are so full of a confidence I had never seen in her prior to this moment. She walks off the stage to much applause.

Finally it is my father's turn. Next to me Katniss offers her usual show of support by squeezing my hand and pulling me closer to her. I cannot take my eyes off the screen.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome Steffan Mellark!" The crowd roars their approval as dad walks up on stage and shakes Caesar's hand. "Please take a seat, Steffan." He gestures for the audience to quiet down. "Well, would you look at that?" he says to the audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, it really is quite clear where Peeta got his looks from! Isn't that extraordinary!"

"Now, don't be so mean to the boy," replies my father with a half-smile, as the audience break into laughter.

"And his gift for words too, I see?"

"Well, they say the apple never falls too far from the tree."

"Indeed, indeed… Now, Steffan, that really was quite something when your name was drawn… When Peeta tried to take your place. Can you tell us how that felt?"

The cameras are close up on my father's face. I impatiently brush away the wetness that has appeared in the corner of my own eyes. There are bound to be cameras watching my movements too.

"My boy has paid his dues. Even if he was allowed to take my place I would never have let him, not in a thousand lifetimes. I could never have watched him go back in, not when I nearly lost him once before." The audience is completely silent. "At least I know I have someone who cares watching over me. Both my son, and my future daughter."

"And how are those wedding plans going? Looking forward to it?"

"I would be if I knew I'd get to see it, Caesar," he answers quietly.

Caesar smiles sympathetically. "I'm sure you will, Steffan, I'm sure you will. Are there any special words for anyone back home?"

He hesitates for just a moment, then looks directly in to a camera. "Yes, actually. Peeta outed my feelings for someone last year. I just wanted to say to that someone, as I'll probably never get the chance now… I never forgot you. I never will." He turns back to Caesar and says with a self-deprecating chuckle. "We're all hopeless romantics in this family."

"Well, Steffan," says Caesar, taking my father's hand in his own, "I wish you the very best of luck. Ladies and Gentlemen, Steffan Mellark!" Dad stands up, gives a small wave to the audience and walks off stage to tumultuous applause.

He walks straight past me and I notice how brightly his eyes are shining. "Dad?" I call after him, but he either doesn't hear me or chooses to ignore me. "Dad?" I call again, running after him. I place my hand on his shoulder and without looking at me he places his own hand on top of mine. He is shaking silently. "Dad?" I ask again, quieter this time.

He turns around and there is no disguising the tears in his eyes. "I didn't want you to see me this way," he says, drying his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

"Dad, I-" I don't even know how to finish the sentence. I put my arms around his neck, and soon am overcome with my own grief.

"There, there," he says, his voice ragged. "I need you to be strong, ok Peet? Be strong."

I look up and see Haymitch approaching us, Katniss just behind him. "You should try and sleep," Haymitch directs towards my father. "You'll need to be as rested as you can be tomorrow."

Dad pulls apart our embrace and offers me a sad smile. "Dry your eyes, Peet, there's a good lad." He kisses my forehead and walks away from me, and as he does I feel my heart shatter. Katniss rushes forward to steady me and I cling to her as a drowning man would to a rope.

"You'll stay with me tonight?" I whisper to her.

"Of course," she replies. "And every night you ever need me."

* * *

**A/N – Lemons ahoy! Hope you enjoyed it. Please leave a review if you feel like it, they make me write faster. Now, get some rest all of you. The Games start in the morning ;)**


	14. Chapter 14

Even with Katniss for company, sleep eludes me. And yet, while I pray for time to slow down, to stop entirely, it has speeded up an unreasonable amount. I keep watching the bedside clock as it ticks away, a seeming countdown to the end of my father's life.

Beside me Katniss stirs in her sleep. A slight twitch of her limbs and tiny whimper escaping her throat indicates to me that her dreams are not pleasant. She is on her side facing away from me, so I am able to spoon her back. I sling my arm over her and pull her into me, kissing the back of her head. She tenses for just a moment then relaxes; whatever terrors were plaguing her have been held at bay for now.

At first light the tributes are taken back in to prep and to be dressed by the stylists for the final time. Katniss and Haymitch eat a light breakfast while we wait to be able to go in and see them but the idea of food makes me feel ill. I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection of a window and almost don't recognise the pale creature with dark circles under his eyes. The tension and anxiety of not knowing what we are facing is unbearable; even worse this year than it was last year.

I look out of the window at the cityscape sprawled below us. The Capitol is buzzing with people already discussing their favourites. Black Market street vendors thrive by selling toy weapons to children who will be acting out their favourite kills. Street parades act out memorable moments from previous games while the crowds clap and laugh and cheer. The gruesome pageantry, the celebration of death and destruction, is like a vice around my chest, constricting me, stopping me breathing, causing pain to my heart. How can a species that claims superiority over all extend so little compassion to others?

When we are finally summoned to give our last advice to the tributes I find my legs refuse to work. Katniss slips an arm around me and guides me forward and it feels as if I am being marched to my own execution.

Mrs Undersee has become withdrawn again. She refuses advice but says quietly to Katniss, "Tell my daughter I love her."

Ava is as white as a sheet when we see her. During her training she proved to be a fast learner, a quick runner and good at setting snares, which Katniss reminds her of, while pulling her into a hug. Haymitch tells her to steer clear of the bloodbath, find shelter, find water. The same advice he gave us last year. I have nothing more to add, other than to say good luck, a sentiment we both know I don't really mean.

We leave Ava to her fate and I despise myself for not being able to offer her more comfort. At least I won't have to pretend with Rafe Cronin. When Haymitch offers his bog-standard advice I pipe up. "I think you should get to the cornucopia. You can handle it," I say, and I am surprised at the venom in my own voice. I want him at that blood bath. I want him dead and out of the way.

He smirks at me. "Don't worry, Mellark. I intend to. See you later."

I feel a muscle twitching in my jaw and I storm out before I do anything else I regret.

My heart pounds in my throat as I enter the final room to say my goodbyes to my father. As soon as he sees me he pulls me into a hug. "Remember what I said, Peet. Be strong for me," he says.

"I will," I promise.

"I love you, son."

Tears stream down my face and I hold him even tighter. "Love you too."

The door opens and Katniss voice drifts in to me. "We don't have long," she says.

"Listen dad," I say, suddenly panicked. "Don't go near them. Run, get away, hide. Just, please stay alive. Please." I don't want to let him go. I'm shaking with grief as Portia returns to make sure dad is presentable for the cameras. Katniss holds my elbow and gently steers me away from him. I look back and hold his gaze as the doors close between us, most likely separating us forever.

"Let's go," says Haymitch, and he leads the way. I am barely aware of where we heading. He takes us to a part of the training centre we have never seen before. There are monitors everywhere but at the moment all are switched off. A large bar fills one side of the room, and predictably enough Haymitch strides directly towards it. He is soon joined by a man I recognise as a previous victor. They greet each other as old friends, both ordering the largest drinks available. The room starts to fill with other victors, chatting animatedly amongst themselves. It seems such a strange sight; all these people will be witnessing the deaths of at least three people they have come to know. Most will be witnessing the deaths of four. And yet here they all are, talking to each other as if they are at a family gathering.

Katniss seems to read my mind. "I guess this is just how they cope," she says, but her voice betrays the anger she feels.

Haymitch starts to walk towards us with the other victor, a tall dark skinned man with a genial face. "Katniss, Peeta, this is Chaff, a friend of mine." The word 'friend' seems so foreign coming from Haymitch. Chaff takes a swig of his drink and extends his hand for me to shake. I return the gesture but my hand passes through thin air. I look down at his extended arm and feel my face flushing; there is nothing but a stump at the end of his arm. Chaff chuckles heartily, while Haymitch also laughs. "Get some new material, old man! He did that to me when we first met and has been doing it to every new victor he meets ever since."

"Get's 'em every time," he says with a wink, then he calls to the room at random, "So who's up for the usual? First loser gets the drinks in for the rest of the games, right?"

"What's this?" Katniss asks, her voice hard.

"First death after the bloodbath," says Chaff. "Unless of course the first bloodbath death was particularly obvious, special or stupid. Whoever's District they were in buys everyone drinks. Keeps us on our toes."

"You bet on them, like the rest of the Capitol?" she says, deadly serious.

"Look, sweetheart," slurs Haymitch. "I've told you before. We all have ways of coping."

She shakes her head in disbelief. Around us the other victors talk, drink and seem thoroughly relaxed. There is nothing to do now but wait for the tributes to be transported to the arena.

Neither Katniss nor myself feel sociable. We keep ourselves to ourselves, not wanting to settle in to Capitol life as easily as everyone else appears to.

Before long the Panem anthem plays and a hush falls over the room. On each of the monitors we get our first glimpse of the arena. Perfectly circular, an island housing the cornucopia in the centre of a vast sea. Twelve spokes head out from the central island to the edge of the arena, creating twelve separate wedges of sea. The outside edge appears to be a wild forest.

My legs give way underneath me and Katniss helps me into a plush seat. We are witnessing the beginning of the games. The tributes seem to rise up out of the sea itself. Four per 'wedge' of sea. I think that this gives the tributes closest to a spoke a hugely unfair advantage, but as the countdown starts, the spokes lower themselves out of sight. There are enough monitors that each one can show an individual tribute. It takes me a second to find dad. His eyes are downcast as he takes deep, steadying breaths. Panic wells up inside me. I don't think he can swim.

"Looks like it won't be me, then!" I look up and hear Finnick's confident voice ring out. He's right. The District Four tributes all look as calm as they possibly could be.

Forty seconds to go. I notice that Hettie Undersee is smiling serenely. She looks up at the sky and with no further warning steps off her platform.

The explosion is instantaneous and the carnage that follows entirely unexpected. The tributes are far closer together than usual, and the explosion caused by her stepping off the platform early creates a wave that splashes down on the two platforms nearest her causing their platforms to also detonate. These explosions cause a ripple effect that sets off the platforms nearest them. The gamemakers obviously manage to erect a forcefield that stops the entire arena being destroyed before the games are even able to begin, but not before five tributes, including Mrs Undersee, are no more.

Complete silence around the room. I look desperately at the screens to try and work out which tributes died in the round of explosions. The silence is broken by Chaff's voice, "Drinks are on Twelve, I'd say."

Other voices chime in. "Yeah, nice one, douche." "There goes my best chance" "You owe me a double for that."

"Thank you," I whisper to the ceiling. Mrs Undersee may not have known that she would take out any of those other tributes, but she must have been planning this. Her suicide has inadvertently taken out Cassius, the giant from District Two. I desperately check the screens to see if Yohan Fairbain, the boy from five is still alive. My heart sinks selfishly when I see his face still on one of the screens, looking with horror towards where the explosions took place.

The countdown reaches zero, and my heart stops. This is it. Please, please,_ please_ let my dad have followed my advice….

A handful of people dive straight in to the water and speed either towards the cornucopia or towards the outside edge and relative safety. Some people lower themselves tentatively in to the water, unsure of which way to go. One boy drags the girl nearest him off her platform, holding her head under the water. She thrashes around blindly, her flailing limbs creating foam in the water, until all of a sudden she is still. Only then does he release her and continue towards the outer edge.

Dad has edged himself into the water. _Go,_ I silently urge him. _Go._ The belts they are wearing seem to be acting as a kind of flotation device and he pushes himself away from the platform and towards the outer edge. I watch his slow progress, willing him on, willing him to move faster and get to safety.

He finally staggers on to the beach, pausing a moment to catch his breath. He turns to look at the cornucopia in the centre of the arena, where the fighting has already started. _Go,_ I urge again. _Please, move._

He jogs up the beach and looks with apprehension towards the trees. He has lived in town his whole life under the impression that trees equal death. That isn't the case here though. _Please, get to cover, get to cover…_ He seems to swallow his fear and heads with resolve towards the trees.

I risk taking my eyes off him for a moment and watch the monitor showing the cornucopia. District Four, with their obvious advantage in this arena, were able to reach the cornucopia first, getting the pick of the best weapons and supplies. The adult female tribute grabbed a knife, a survival pack and a spear before diving back in to the water and heading out alone to the trees, while the others have stayed at the cornucopia, able to pick off some of the tributes in the water as soon as they get close.

I try and find Ava on the screens. Like my father, she too has stayed clear of the cornucopia, and has found a tree close to the beach. She has climbed high in to the branches and from where she is sat she will have a good view of the cornucopia without being easily spotted from the ground. Perhaps she intends to head back out there when the initial violence has calmed down?

I look for Rafe. I am almost overcome with relief when I see his body floating in amongst the red waters near the island. My father is safe from him, at least. But then something about him catches my eyes. The cameras have zoomed in on him, and his eyes flicker briefly towards the island. He's still alive. Is he even injured? Or merely pretending to be downed so he can be right by the weapons when everyone's guards are lowered? I watch him intensely, waiting for him to make a move. He bides his time, allowing his 'corpse' to wash up on the shore. Those remaining at the cornucopia may have formed some kind of alliance as they are rooting through the packs and remaining weapons without fighting. Rafe's eyes keep flickering briefly to where they are, but no one is paying him any attention; until the canon signifies the end of the initial round of killings he is just another dead body to them. He silently rolls on to his front and sneaks up behind another boy, snatching the knife out of his hands and quickly plunging it down between his shoulder blades. Before any of the other tributes have been able to react to his sudden appearance, he slashes out at the man nearest him, drawing blood across the older man's chest. The man stumbles backwards, and Rafe spots something by his feet. He grins, grabs the item, and runs back to the sea before any of the other tributes have been able to make a move.

He swims back to the other shore, and as he climbs out of the water the canon fire signals the end of the bloodbath. The spokes rise back out of the water, providing easier access to the cornucopia. The cameras linger on Rafe's triumphant face, then show a close up of what he managed to grab that caused him to grin so widely. Seeing the item in his hands I feel a thrill of nausea and sickening dizziness. It is a meat cleaver. Rafe has become a very real and dangerous contender in these games.

* * *

**A/N – Sorry for the short chapter. I wrote more, but decided that actually this was the best place to end it here. So, let me know what you think! Reviews make chapters appear faster ;) **


	15. Chapter 15

I'm staring at the monitor that had shown the close up on Rafe's weapon and it feels as if I have just been pushed from a cliff. His interview from only last night plays over and over in my mind. "I don't see that cutting up a person will be that much different from butchering a pig," he had said. And he has found his weapon of choice…

I tear my eyes away from Rafe's screen and search dad out again. He is making slow progress through the trees and away from the beach, probably searching for water like I advised. I turn back to the screen that shows the entire arena again and frown slightly. Aside from the sea, there appears to be no water sources at all anywhere in the arena. This cannot be the case. There has to be something, somewhere…

Katniss nudges me gently with her elbow and I look up. The room has filled with other people; all dressed in Capitol attire with their bizarre colourful appearances. Some are looking at the monitors with interest, others are mingling by the bar. A large electronic board has lit up showing the odds on each tribute, and some are studying this intently. "Sponsors, do you think?" she whispers to me. She must surely be right. Will this be the only way I can get water to my dad? No. There _must_ be an alternative source somewhere in there. They wouldn't want all the tributes to die of dehydration – there would be no "fun" in that for the Capitol.

In the centre of the room is a large holographic table which shows a 3-D map of the entire arena. Red dots labelled with a name and District number show the exact whereabouts of each tribute in relation to each other. A few other victors are studying the map with keen interest and I join them, seeking dad out as quickly as I can. After a few seconds I spy him; in the north-west of the map, just thirty or forty yards in to the tree-line. I look at the map surrounding him closely. No lakes, no streams, no pools, not even a puddle in sight. Just the vast expanse of ocean sea water. Maybe there is some way of removing the salt? Making the sea drinkable?

"You spotted the problem?" Haymitch has appeared beside me, glass in hand, as he stares down at the map of this arena.

"No drinking water," I reply, still scanning everywhere rapidly, hoping I've missed something.

He raises his glass to me as if toasting me. "Well spotted. Hey, sweetheart!" he calls to Katniss, indicating she should come closer. He steers both of us away from the map for a moment and lowers his voice. "There will be water. We just need to figure out where to look." He points towards one of the Capitol women who stood leaning by the bar, an elaborate drink in her hand, gazing up at a large screen showing the selected footage being broadcast to Panem. "You see that woman? Damiana Ivory. Her brother is one of the gamemakers. She usually knows most of the arena's secrets."

I steel my resolve, take a deep breath and head towards her, but I haven't gone two steps before Haymitch pulls me back, "Woah, kid, what are you doing?"

"I'm going to ask her where it is."

"Just like that? And you think she'll just part with information like that? You need to play her. Flatter her, appeal to her ego. Look." He nods his head back in the direction of Damiana Ivory. Finnick is already next to her. He's taken her hand in one of his own and raised it to his lips. He orders her another of those elaborate cocktails, tucks a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, and in no time at all she is giggling like a little school girl. He leans in to her and whispers something in her ear and she playfully pushes him away. He offers her a winning smile and kisses her hand once again before leaving her to the screens. "Finnick will most likely get it out of her first. He'll be able to send something to one of his tributes, we keep an eye on them, we find out where the water is."

There are too many "what ifs" in this scenario. Dad could be dead of dehydration before any of that happens. I'm going to have to take matters in to my own hands to get this done. Swallowing my pride I take another step towards her, only to be pulled back once more. "Peeta, trust me. You don't want to find yourself indebted to too many of these people."

"If Finnick can do it-"

"Do you really think Finnick's life is something to be envious of?"

I am about to protest again but Katniss steps in first. "Leave it with me."

No. If anyone is going to be indebted, it's going to be me. "I won't let you," I say.

"Trust me," she smiles. Instead of walking towards Damiana Ivory she heads straight to Finnick Odair. I can't help but feel a pang of jealousy towards him as she introduces herself. I know it is stupid to be jealous, especially now I know the reason for his reputation as a Lothario but I can't help the knot that appears in my stomach, nor the twinges of annoyance as he appears to be flirting with her. Thankfully she isn't returning the gesture; she appears even more annoyed with Finnick's flirting as I am.

Haymitch has walked back to the arena map and is surveying everything in front of him. As I watch Katniss and Finnick talking with my jaw set, I notice an unwelcome presence has entered the room. Briar is making herself very comfortable on one of the choicest armchairs, a glass of champagne in one hand which she sips at leisurely while watching one of the screens. Her presence unnerves me. I knew she would be here, Haymitch said about her being highly influential in the games the morning after my first encounter with her, but seeing her here still terrifies me.

"Peeta." I hear Haymitch's voice, but between watching Katniss, Finnick and Briar my conscious is elsewhere. "Peeta!" His voice is much more urgent and it snaps me back to the present. I run to his side, panic almost overwhelming me, and there is concern in his eyes. He points at the map and I quickly find the red dot that indicates my father. Moving towards it at a fair speed is a dot labelled 'Esme Pinewood 7.' I turn to the monitors and quickly find my father, still moving slowly through the trees. I look for the screens showing the tributes from District 7. Esme is the adult female, and she is moving rapidly and lightly through the jungle, a long, curved dagger held in her right hand. The gap between them is rapidly closing and dad seems entirely unaware he is being hunted.

"Please, dad," I whisper, and I feel Haymitch steering me towards a chair. I grip the back of it to steady myself. Fear freezes me to the spot and keeps me from looking away.

Fifteen yards between them…. My heart races painfully fast….Ten yards, and he still hasn't noticed…. I'm forgetting to breathe….Five yards and finally Esme makes a mistake. A misplaced foot and a branch snaps loudly drawing my father's attention. He spins on the spot as she realises her mistake and launches herself at him, bringing the dagger down hard and fast towards his face. He catches her arm and stops the dagger inches from his face and I see the fear apparent in Esme's eyes as she realises he is too strong for her. She struggles to bring the knife in to contact with his body, but he easily spins her around, twisting her arm behind her back and pulling the knife from her hand. She cries out as she realises she has lost.

Seeing the anguish in my father's eyes, I feel as if I am intruding on something terribly private. He leans in to her, tells her he is sorry, then brings his arm around her throat. But he doesn't stab her with her own dagger, or snap her neck, or strangle her; he is using a sleeper hold on her. She quietly falls unconscious, and dad seems unsure of what to do with her. He picks her up, and carries her back towards the beach. I think he must mean to leave her where someone else can find her.

I keep one eye on the screen showing him and turn back towards the arena map.

There are a couple of other tributes not far from the pair of them; the woman from Eight, the woman from Ten, the man from Four, and the girl from Six are all just a few minutes away from them, and while dad carries the prone figure of Esme Pinewood there is little he can do to defend himself. "Come on, dad, get out of there," I whisper.

He finally reaches the beach, and sits Esme up against a tree. He apologises to her once again and swiftly heads back in to cover. I finally feel able to breathe and collapse shaking in a chair. It doesn't take long before the District Four tribute finds her. He looks confused as if this is some kind of trap, but draws a knife across her throat before running back in to cover. The canon fires and on screen I see my father turn around and look in the direction he had left her, his eyes racked with guilt. A slender pair of arms snake their way around me from behind, and I reach up to pull Katniss closer, then jump out of my skin when I realise the arms around me don't belong to her. "Whisky. Double. You definitely owe me now." I spin around and am face to face with a mentor I recognise as Johanna Mason, who won a few years back. "Twelve took out our boy, and your old man left our chick for dead. You owe me a drink."

"Get your claws off him," Haymitch's voice drifts in, but it lacks any bite.

"Awww, come on Haymitch, I'm two tributes down and not a single one of you has bothered trying to console me."

"Hey, at least you're still doing better than Rudolphus. He's already lost three."

More of this attitude that the mentors don't really care if their tributes live or die. Maybe they don't. Not when they have come to learn that still being alive doesn't necessarily mean you've won.

I need Katniss. I need her to ground me. I need her comfort and her warmth. She is still talking to Finnick, her arms folded tightly across her chest, two slight pink spots on her cheeks. Whether she is flushed from anger or embarrassment is difficult to tell. As I walk away from Johanna I hear her call after me, "Whisky! Double!" Ignoring her request I head straight for Katniss, slipping my arm around her possessively when I approach her.

"Awww. Cute," smirks Finnick at the pair of us. "I was just having a rather lovely chat with your missus, Peeta."

"He's not going to help us, let's just go," says Katniss, anger seething beneath the surface.

Finnick smiles widely. "You really need to learn to keep her under control. I can teach you a few tricks, if you like."

"I don't need to learn anything from you, thank you," I retort.

"I think it's painfully obvious that you do, Peeta," he replies with a hint of sadness.

I feel my own face flushing furiously as I take Katniss's hand and stride away from him. The double entendre was far too close to the bone for my liking. "What did he mean by that?" she asks me.

"Nothing," I reply.

"That didn't sound like nothing, Peeta. What did he mean?"

"Please, just… drop it, Katniss. It doesn't matter."

She nods and doesn't press me further for which I am grateful. She gently touches the side of my face and draws me in to a delicate kiss which leaves my heart fluttering. She pulls away, leaving me breathless for more.

She is looking past me and frowning slightly. "We're being watched," she says and I turn and see Briar eyeing us both while lazily sipping at her champagne. "You ok?" she asks me and I swallow the lump that has formed in my throat and nod tightly. "She's the one who-?"

"Yes," I interrupt before she can finish her sentence.

"Ignore her," she says, cupping my face and bringing my gaze to meet hers. "She doesn't own you, remember that."

She kisses me again, deeper this time, enveloping me in her arms. Her fingers gently play with the hair at the nape of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. I pull her close to me, desperate for every inch of her body to be next to mine.

When we part, Katniss glances quickly towards Briar and back to me. I risk looking at her too, expecting to see fury, or at the very least annoyance or even jealousy written across her features. Instead she just looks mildly interested as she continues to sip at her drink.

"Oi Peeta!" Johanna Mason's voice rings out across the room, "Put the bird down and get me my whisky, I'm dying of thirst over here!"

She plants one last, fluttering kiss on my lips before returning to join Haymitch in his vigil of the monitors. I head to the bar and order Johanna's whisky, another for Haymitch, hot chocolate for Katniss and tea for myself.

I look over at the board which shows the current odds for each remaining tribute and quickly count down who remains. Eighteen tributes have fallen already, thirty remaining, including the two that frighten me the most, for very different reasons.

The excitement levels in the bar suddenly seem to rise to a fever pitch. Large sums of money exchange hands as fresh bets are placed. I carry the tray bearing the drinks back, spilling some in my hastiness to understand what has caused this excitement.

My heart sinks when I see who is causing the fresh round of bloodlust. Rafe has tracked down two tributes, the girl from Eight and the boy from Six. It looks as though they may have teamed up to bring him down together. But he moves as if the cleaver is an extension of his own arm, raining blows down upon any flesh that he can reach. I turn away from the screens and am almost overcome with nausea. Sponsors will probably be lining up to help him after such a bloody display.

Only a few hours in and already I feel like I need a break. I have to get away from these Capitol monsters and their overwhelming desire for death.

There is a balcony that overlooks the city and I head outside, my need for fresh air overpowering. I grip the edge of the balcony, worried that if I let go I may fall over the edge.

"I could help you, you know." I grip the balcony even tighter. That voice belonged to the one person who would be sure to make me feel worse. I don't trust myself to say anything. "I could send him a means of getting water, food, anything."

Haymitch's words from earlier replay in my mind. _" You don't want to find yourself indebted to too many of these people."_ I swallow my fear and my pride. "What would you want from me?"

She smiles, cold and hard. "I'm glad we understand each other. I'm sure I could think of something to do with you."

I close my eyes and I see Rafe killing those two children, and I imagine my father in their place. I don't see that I have a choice. My mouth is entirely dry as I whisper, "Help him."

"And what will you do for me?"

I pause for breath, and the words take a great effort to come from me. "Anything."

* * *

**A/N – Wow. This was hard to write. Not sure how well publicised the murder was outside the UK, but the soldier murdered in broad daylight with meat cleavers in Woolwich? Well, it happened pretty much on my doorstep two days after the last update. Not sure how easy writing scenes with Rafe is going to be for a while after that, to be honest. It's just a little too 'close to home,' if you catch my drift :(**

**Anyway, I will try and plough through, but it might be a while, describing a kid killing people in a manner I could have actually witnessed if I'd left work early isn't an appealing prospect. Sorry to keep you hanging.**


	16. Chapter 16

"Anything, you say? Well, Peeta, that is a truly tempting offer." She raises an eyebrow as she sips leisurely at champagne.

"And you promise you'll help my father?"

"A deal is a deal."

I take a deep breath. "Ok, then he needs water, some kind of shelter, food… Ummm..."

"Hold on, loverboy. I need to know you'll hold up your end of our little arrangement first."

My voice sticks in my throat as the implications of what I have promised hit me. "Of course I will."

"Sorry, Peeta. Words aren't enough, considering your actions so far have been, well, a little less than enthused." She pauses to run a taloned finger down my sleeve. "As you leave this bar you'll notice a corridor to your right. Go to the end of the corridor and turn right again. The third door on the left is a storage room that is very rarely used. Meet me there in fifteen minutes. We'll see if you are able to keep to your word."

Without a backwards glance she leaves and rejoins the Capitol citizens in the bar. Beyond her I see Katniss; she has been watching me with a look of deep concern on her face. As the realisation of the deal I am making washes over me I am almost overcome with a sense of vertigo. I refuse to make eye contact with Katniss; it feels that if she looks into my eyes she'll know exactly what is going on, and the mixture of sympathy and disgust will destroy me.

She is heading out to the balcony. I gather my focus as she approaches. "Is he ok?" I ask her before she can ask the same of me. I'm uncertain how I would answer such a question.

"He's fine. They're all fine. Not much going on at the moment." I nod. My mouth has gone exceptionally dry. "What was that all about?"

"She, ummmm-" I can't bring myself to talk.

"Again?"

I nod, grateful that she isn't pressing me for further explanation.

"When?" She is looking inside, possibly trying to seek Briar out amongst the throng of people.

"Pretty much now."

Her head snaps back to me, her mouth agape. _"Now?"_ she hisses. My eyes drop to the floor and I indicate yes with a jerk of my head. Her hand touches the side of my face and I struggle to fight back the tears that start to prick behind my eyes. "I'm so sorry, Peeta."

"Me too," I reply quietly.

Her hand has remained on my face and I reach up to touch it, closing my eyes as I do. I become aware of her proximity as I feel her warm breath on my lips just a split second before her own soft lips are pressing upon me. The kiss is sweet and delicate yet insistent and leaves me breathless. "Remember, she doesn't own you."

I wish there was truth to what Katniss was saying. I offer a tight smile and tell her I will see her later, and make my way back through the bar, pausing to check on my father on the screens and his position on the map. He is resting amidst a thick clump of trees, with no tributes heading towards him. Seeing that he is in relative safety at the moment causes me to seriously question my actions. No. His respite is surely only temporary.

I push forward through the bar and out the other exit, following the directions given to me. Immediate right, down to the end of the corridor. Right again. Third door on the left. I pause outside, not wanting to make another move. Steeling myself and taking a deep breath, I knock on the door.

No answer. Tentatively I try the door, easing it open. An automatic light flickers on bathing the room in bright, artificial fluorescent lighting. Briar clearly isn't here yet. I look around the room at my surroundings. This is little more than a box room. I take a peek inside a box and am met with nothing more innocuous than old office supplies.

I am stood alone for a few more minutes and am just beginning to wonder if I am in the wrong room when the door opens again. Briar closes the door behind her with a soft click. "Well," she says. "Aren't we keen today?"

Now I am alone with her I feel almost paralysed with fear again. How did I possibly think I would be able to go through with this? I try to lick my dry lips, but my mouth is entirely devoid of moisture. "What do you want me to do?" I say in a flat tone, trying to keep my voice free from emotion, free from the turmoil raging within me.

She cocks her head to one side as if sizing me up. "I want you to kiss me like you kiss her."

I look at her incredulously. "I'm sorry?"

"It's a very simple request, Peeta. Kiss me like you would kiss her. If you want me to help daddy dearest, that is my price. A kiss. That's all I require for now."

"For now?" I repeat.

"Of course. There will be other….costs….involved. But for now nothing more than a kiss will be required."

She takes a step towards me and looks expectantly in to my eyes. I exhale slowly, try to swallow my nervousness and step forward to meet her.

"Remember, Peeta. Exactly like you would kiss her. If I'm not convinced then I'm afraid you won't be receiving any help."

What choice do I have? I close my eyes and try to imagine how I am with Katniss; everything with her feels so natural. The very opposite of how I feel now with Briar. She brings her arms around my waist and runs her hands over my back. I draw her close to me and do my very best to ignore the sound of my heart pounding in my ears.

She's a little shorter than Katniss so I have to bend my neck further to reach her. Does she want gentle sensuousness or unbridled passion? I have a feeling I'm only going to get one chance to get this right, and I doubt she'll give me the luxury of leading me.

I place a hand at the back of her head and press my lips in to hers, while my other hand rests on the small of her back. I gently probe her mouth with my tongue, imagining it be Katniss in my arms. She makes a small contented noise deep within her throat, and I find it off putting. Her strangely high pitched voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard compared to the dulcet registers of Katniss's voice. I push into her further to try and suffocate those sounds and as I do she tightens her grip on me. Her nails scratch my back through my clothes before she slips a hand inside my shirt and claws at my flesh directly.

Involuntarily I gasp in pain, but thankfully Briar seems to think I am merely coming up for air. She too is breathless , her face flushed and clothes dishevelled. "I knew there had to be a real man in there somewhere," she says as she grabs at my crotch.

I push her hand away from me and her eyes flash warningly, so I try to say in as jovial tone as possible, "Just a kiss, remember."

She pouts in what I can only assume she believes to be a playful manner. "Maybe I changed the terms of our agreement."

_Don't protest. Just…get through this._

I swallow my apprehension before I allow myself to speak and I try to sound flirtatious rather than plain terrified. "That's hardly fair, a kiss was agreed upon. What would the new terms be?"

She appears to think about it. "I think a kiss is a fair exchange for a bottle of water. But a bottle of water won't last long. If you want him to have the means to get his own it will cost a lot more."

"How much more?"

She raises an eyebrow at my question. Of course I didn't really need to ask. She begins unbuttoning the front of my shirt, licking her lips as she does so. "You are going to take me, right here and now. No protests, no arguments." Her hand cups my crotch again as I close my eyes. I doubt she'll be carrying around a vial of the elixir she gave me before. I'm going to have to get it up without that kind of help, and that means having to switch off my brain, detach myself from the reality of this terrible situation.

As she massages the front of my trousers I lean down and capture her lips once again. Images from a few nights ago spring to the forefront of my mind. Katniss, my shirt hanging off her slender frame, sitting on top of me, the gentle swell of her breasts just visible in the moonlight. I picture her calling my name, gripping tightly to the sheets as I brought her to orgasm.

I feel a stirring that starts deep in my stomach. Briar continues her ministrations and I imagine it is Katniss touching me. I soon start to grow hard under her touch and deepen the kiss, all the time picturing Katniss. She pushes me backwards until we are leaning against the closed door, then pulls away for a moment. "Fuck me, Peeta."

Her words bring me back to reality for a moment, and for a moment my erection threatens to wane. I picture Katniss's mouth around my cock to keep the blood pumping. To keep her from speaking again I spin us around so she is the one pressed up against the door. I push her skirt up around her hips and pull her underwear down. She tries to undo my belt and trousers but I push her hands away. From out of nowhere anger wells up inside me such as I have never known, a torrent of rage at the Capitol for putting us through this; the Games, the intimidation, the brutal treatment and ridiculous laws that keep the masses so downtrodden. And that anger is directed towards Briar. She wants me to fuck her? Fine.

I quickly undo my trousers allowing them to fall to the floor, and I release my hardened cock from my boxers. Briar anticipates my intentions with a slight smile and opens her legs. I bend slightly to position myself at her core and push into her in a single thrust.

My name escapes her lips as I pick her up and pin her to the wall. She wraps her legs around me as I thrust furiously in to her. Part of me wants this to hurt her. I want her to feel a fraction of the pain and anguish that she and the rest of her kind have put me through.

She starts to squeal louder and louder with each thrust, and I am convinced someone will hear us so I clamp a hand over her mouth, holding her up with the other. Her screams, even under the pressure of my hand, reach a fever pitch and before long I feel her walls clamp around me. It is just the extra sensation I need to send me spiralling over the edge. I climax with a soft grunt, and as the pitiful orgasm I managed to achieve subsides the feelings of outrage and anger that I felt only moments ago are replaced by an overwhelming feeling of guilt and shame.

I lower Briar to the ground, my already flaccid dick sliding out of her as I do. I redress myself as quickly as I am able, the only sounds I can hear that of Briar trying to catch her breath.

"I think you may have finally earned your keep," she says to me at last.

"You'll help him then?"

"Yes, Peeta," she replies. "When he needs help, he will receive it."

"But not now?" I ask. Panic wells in me. I don't want to have put myself in this situation for no reason. What if she backs out on me? Changes her mind?

"He's only been there a few hours, boy, he's hardly likely to die of thirst yet. He may figure it out by himself. I'd consider this a down-payment on some different help if that were to be the case."

I nod, keeping my eyes on the floor. The feelings of guilt within me have been growing. How would my father react if he knew this was how I was getting him help? I don't think I could cope with the look of disappointment.

"You know," she says, interrupting my chain of thought, "This arena has a few deadly secrets that even the most trained Career couldn't survive against. But… I may have enough influence to put a halt to certain….proceedings. If you understand my meaning?"

I nod once again, terrified of what I may be letting myself in for.

"I'm glad we have an accord, Peeta." She smooths the creases in her dress away. "I'm going to return to the bar. You will stay here for ten minutes before returning. Come back any sooner and our deal is off, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," I answer quietly.

She reaches up to touch the side of my face, and licks along my jawline before leaving me alone in this storage room. As the door clicks shut I slide to the floor. I take several deep breaths to try and quell the nausea rising within me. The guilt is utterly unbearable.

I start to count slowly and quietly, one to sixty, repeating myself again and again. After everything I have been through I couldn't bear it to return early and ruin everything. After reaching sixty eleven times, just to be on the safe side, I slip outside and make my way back through the training centre. The raucous noise reaches me first; from the sound of it another Tribute may have just met their end. I jog the final few paces, dreading what I am about to witness. The relief of watching the woman from Eleven being strangled by one of the Careers is immense.

I seek out Katniss amongst the crowd. As soon as she sees me she hurries to join me and kisses me. The memories of my most recent encounter with Briar are too fresh and I struggle to return it. She looks hurt.

"I'm sorry," I mumble.

"It's ok," she shrugs but the pain she clearly feels is heartbreaking.

The last thing I want to do now is push her away from me. I pull her in to an embrace, noticing as I do that Briar is watching us once again, a smirk on her face. I turn away from her, not wanting to see her hated face, not wanting to see her witnessing my anguish.

"He's still ok, by the way," she whispers to me.

"Thank you," I whisper back.

Haymitch approaches us, his usual glass of spirits in hand. He looks awkward and unsure of what to say. "Look, kid, you ain't gonna like this. I've had people approach me to offer to sponsor Rafe."

"You can't," I say bluntly.

"S'not up to me. He's giving them the kind of show they like, and they want to help him."

"Then refuse."

Haymitch is getting frustrated. "It doesn't work that way, Peeta. I'm sorry. I'll try and get your old man all the help I can but I can't refuse Rafe help when it's being so freely offered."

I want to hit him. Everything I've put myself through, and it's going to be undermined. "Fine," I say, struggling to keep my anger in check. "Fine. I don't need your support anyway. I'll get him everything he needs myself."

Haymitch's eyes narrow. "Where were you just now?"

Katniss steps in. "Leave him alone," she says warningly.

Understanding seems to wash over him. He looks over my shoulder. I quickly glance behind me and see Briar still watching me. "Baxwall again? Just… be careful, ok kid? I know you don't have much of a choice, but… jeez kid, don't let her get her claws in, ok? She's dangerous."

If it was possible to feel worse, I now do. Haymitch must have some clue about the deal I've made given his warning, but surely he must also understand why. I just hope that putting myself through this hell proves to be worth it.

* * *

**A/N - I had a few requests for more Briar (evil bitch that she is!) There will be more coming up, as I'm sure you can tell. Poor Peeta ;)**


	17. Chapter 17

Not much more happens in the Arena by the time the sun sets and the Panem anthem plays. The skies light up to show the fallen tributes. So much death in a single day; it has been hard to keep track of it.

The first fallen tribute to be shown is Cassius, from District Two. Then the woman and boy from District Three. District Four lost their young boy, stabbed in the back by Rafe during the bloodbath. Both female tributes from District Five have fallen. The girl, boy and man from District Six. The woman, Esme Pinewood, and the boy from Seven. Both young children from Eight. District Nine lost their girl, boy and woman. The girl and man from Ten. The woman and man from Eleven. And finally Hettie Undersee is Twelve's only fallen tribute.

Watching the faces of the twenty-one tributes who have died in the very first day I feel a terrible guilt that I only knew the names of three of them. Twenty-one families irrevocably torn apart today but to most of us they were simply another nameless, faceless obstacle that has been cleared.

None of the tributes have yet found water and all of them appear to be suffering as a result. Hair lies flat on top of their heads as a mixed result of sweat and humidity. If water doesn't appear soon they will start dropping like flies.

Some of the tributes are trying to settle down for the night to get some rest. Dad found a thick cluster of trees and bushes. A particularly large root stuck out of the ground formed a roof, and using leaves and vines he has built himself a makeshift tent. Thankfully with the obvious heat he won't need to build a fire to keep warm. I think back to last year, to my first night in the Arena. If I hadn't managed to convince the Careers I was an asset to them I may well have ended up like the girl whose death I witnessed.

I try and find our other Tributes. Rafe hasn't ventured far from the beach, and although he looks tired he isn't resting. Probably taking the opportunity to try and hunt more tributes.

Ava has finally ventured down from the tree she was hiding in. She gathers some nearby vines and as quickly as she is able she sets some snares around her tree before darting back up, using another vine to tie herself to the branch. She must mean to get some sleep.

Beside me Katniss is struggling to keep her eyes open. Her head rests on my shoulders and every now and again I feel her jerk slightly as if she is falling asleep against her will and forcing herself to stay awake.

I kiss the top of her head. "Go get some rest," I tell her.

"What about you," she answers quietly, stifling a yawn.

"I doubt I'll sleep until this is all over," I reply, my eyes fixed on the screens.

"How did Haymitch do this alone for so long?"

"By usually having tributes who died on the first day," Haymitch's voice cuts across us as he stumbles in to view. He sits down heavily in a chair near me. "You two were a pain in the ass last year."

"Sorry for being so damn selfish," snaps Katniss, but her tone lacks any real bite.

"You're welcome," says Haymitch. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "Rafe will be getting a parachute any moment. I thought you'd rather hear it from me before you see it."

My jaw clenches painfully and I refuse to look at Haymitch. I keep an eye on Rafe's screen and sure enough, down floats a parachute. He looks surprised at first then a grin spreads over his face as he picks it up and sits down to examine his gift. He looks up at the sky, the cameras on his triumphant face and says in a voice that won't carry through the jungle but that is easily picked up by the recording equipment, "Cheers, Peeta." He smirks as he raises the bottle of water he has just been sent up high, as if to toast me. It looks as though he has also been sent some bread, cheese and dried fruit, which he takes a few bites of before stashing the rest away and washing his meal down with water.

In silence I stand up and turn away from the screens. The sight of Rafe is sickening, especially after his display of thanking me. I hear Katniss call after me, but I look at her and shake my head slightly. She understands and stays in her seat, resuming her vigil of the screens, tucking her legs up on her seat. I seek out Briar immediately amongst the bar's patrons. She is laughing and talking to a couple of other Capitol citizens, including the sister of one of the gamemakers, Damiana Ivory. I do my best to steady my nerves and head straight towards her.

As I approach she doesn't seem pleased to see me. She excuses herself from her friends and says, "Can I help you?" in a tone of pure impatience.

"Well…yes," I reply. She raises an eyebrow questioningly. "I mean, you already prom-" I stop talking under the glare I receive from her.

"Everything ok, Briar, sweetie?" one of the other Capitol women call to us.

"Fine, Abrey, just being hounded as usual."

This woman, Abrey, glances over at us. "District Twelve again? We just sent that boy a parcel, what more do they want?"

"He wants me to help the man."

"Oh no, really? But he's _so _boring."

I am about to open my mouth in protest but Briar shoots a hand out, holding my arm in her vice-like grip and steering me away. "It wouldn't do well for you to question the choices that others have made," she hisses.

"But you are going to help him?"

She rolls her eyes. "Fine. Buy me a drink and I'll send him something." I order her another flute of her favourite champagne which she accepts then says, "Follow me."

She slides her arm through mine and together we head back out of the bar. We enter an ornate elevator, she presses a button and we begin to descend in silence. After a moment or two she presses a button on the elevator which causes it to halt in its descent. She runs her fingers over my stomach. Please, not now… Not so soon… I freeze in place; even if this is inevitable I won't encourage it. She breaks the terse silence. "He isn't a popular choice, you know."

That throws me. His cheers were tumultuous at his interview. "Why?"

She shrugs. "It's always fun watching a Victor struggle with the death of a loved one. We've seen them lose a child, but never a parent. This could be a once in a lifetime opportunity."

I can't contain the anger that rises in me. "That's my dad you're talking about! This isn't 'fun!' This isn't an exciting 'opportunity!' This is life and death!"

She smirks at me. "Thank you for proving my point exactly, Peeta. Always fun." She reaches for my stomach once again but I grasp her wrist before she does and shove her away. "Now, now, Peeta. No need for that kind of behaviour. I never said I wouldn't help him, merely that he was an unpopular choice. Don't make me change my mind."

"Sorry," I mumble, cursing myself for my inability to control my emotions around her.

She presses the button that starts the elevator again. "Apology accepted, for now."

The elevator doors open, and I find myself in a large, white room, an even bigger and more detailed version of the holographic map of the arena in the centre of the room. At least thirty Capitol workers sit around it, working at monitors. This must be the main control centre for the games.

In front of the arena map sits a Capitol worker at a desk facing us. As we approach she asks without looking up, "Name and District of the Tribute you are sponsoring?"

"Steffan Mellark, District Twelve," replies Briar.

"And what are you sending?"

"A spile," she replies.

"A what?" I ask.

"It's how he'll get water."

The worker taps several buttons and a holographic projection of a long thin tube appears hovering in the air in front of us. "Is this acceptable?" she asks.

"What do you do with it?" I ask.

"It can be used as a tap to siphon water from the trees. Is this acceptable?" the worker repeats.

"Perfectly so," says Briar.

"He won't know what to do with it!" I retaliate. "You'll send instructions too?"

"We cannot send explicit written instructions."

An idea comes to me. I turn to Briar. "Can we send him some food?"

"If you are willing to…_pay_… then of course."

I nod my silent assent. I will worry about those insinuations later. "Two or three cookies, that's all I'd need, and some royal icing in a piping bag."

The items I need are sent for and after a few minutes they appear. It is a few more minutes work for me to roughly ice the cookies showing a diagram of how the spile can be hammered in to a tree to get water. Not my neatest or prettiest work, but hopefully it will at least be informative enough.

The Capitol worker eyes the cookies with interest, before asking Briar to eyeball a scanner. "The cost of sending these items will be eighty Coins. Do you wish for me to proceed?"

"Yes, yes…" She is beginning to sound impatient.

"Thank you. Your tribute will receive their sponsorship momentarily."

My heart leaps. I've given him a fighting chance at least. The hell is worth it, knowing that I have done what I can.

"As a matter of interest, how much would it cost to put a stop to any lethal traps he may be in at the appropriate times?"

The worker taps a few buttons. "At this stage in the Games that will cost ten thousands Coins. Price will, of course, increase."

"Thank you," she responds before leading me back to the ornate elevator. Once inside with the doors closed, Briar speaks. "It certainly will cost a lot of money to keep him safe through these games. Possibly more than you will be able to afford to repay before the end. Unless of course you would be willing to travel back to the Capitol at other times during the year?"

My breathing hitches as my heart hammers furiously in my throat. "Wouldn't people notice if I kept returning outside of the Games?"

She shrugs. "I was planning on having a word with Snow anyway. Making our arrangement a little more…_ official."_

That sense of vertigo again… Does that mean I would be sold to anyone? Like Finnick? "What about Katniss?" I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

"You'd want to keep all to yourself, wouldn't you?"

"Of course."

"I'm sure it could be arranged."

Everything is spiralling out of my control. I wonder if there was a moment I would have been able to say 'no' to any of this, to stop it before it truly started. I think back to our first encounter; how I blacked out and awoke with that ominous note. I have to know the truth.

"Miss Baxwall?" My voice sounds so nervous, hesitant. Completely unlike my own.

"Hmmm?"

"Is…." I pause and swallow my apprehension. "That is to say, did you…?"

"Spit it out, boy."

"Did you make sure it was my father's name that came out?"

Her face is blank and completely unreadable. "Is that what you've been thinking?"

"Did you?"

She steps a little closer to me and lightly draws a nail down the side of my cheek. "I don't think I'm going to answer that one. Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't. But watching you squirm is just too delicious."

At that moment the elevator doors reopen and we find ourselves back on the floor with the bar. She heads away from me, and it takes all my effort to remain upright. She has as good as confirmed my suspicions. This is all my fault. Dad is in this situation because of me. And I will have to sacrifice my own future to get him out again. I want to run away, to pretend none of this is happening, but then who would there be to protect dad? Or Kern and Rhees back home? Or Katniss? I stumble back to the bar. After the announcements of the day's dead only a few hardened Capitol Games fans have stuck around, and as the tributes settle down for the night, so are some of the mentors, to grab a few hours of relaxation and respite.

Haymitch and Chaff are propping each other up at the bar, while Katniss appears to have fallen asleep in one of the armchairs nearest the monitors. I join her and she jerks awake. "Hey," I say, putting an arm around her and pulling her in. "I thought I told you to go and get some rest?"

"Didn't want to leave you," she says as she drapes an arm across me. I fight the tears that threaten to fall. I don't want to her to see the pain I have caused myself. She closes her eyes again and in moments her breathing deepens, and she is asleep.

I find dad's monitor. He is still in his makeshift shelter, lying down with his eyes open. He must be exhausted but unable to sleep. He then notices something, and my heart lifts at the sight of it. A parachute falling gently to come to land just in front of him. He crawls out of his hiding space and unravels the silk. The first thing to be pulled out is the spile which he turns over in his hands, a look of confusion on his face. He then spies the cookies. There is just enough moonlight for him to be able to make out the crude drawings on the front. He clearly recognises this as my work. He looks at the diagrams, and back to the spile, back and forth until a slight smile creeps across his face. He wipes the tears that have fallen from his face, pockets the spile then traces his finger across the diagram of one of the iced cookies. "Thank you, Peet," he whispers, taking a bite from one of them.

At that moment a bell seems to chime. It sounds mournful, funereal even, and it can only herald something ominous. On the screens I see that all of the tributes seem to be looking to the skies, wondering what these bells can mean. As the twelfth bell strikes, the lightening begins.

* * *

**A/N – Thanks to all who are reading and enjoying the story. Please leave a review to tell me what you think :) **


	18. Chapter 18

The sudden crack of lightening as it struck a tree made me practically jump out of my seat, accidentally waking Katniss from her slumber on my shoulder. "What is it?" she asks, fear tainting the edge of her sleep addled voice. I indicate the crazy storm taking place in the northernmost wedge of the arena. "Where are our guys in relation to it?"

We check the holographic map. Our tributes are all roughly equidistant from each other, and had Mrs Undersee not committed suicide at the start she would be not far from where the storm was currently taking place. Dad is around about two wedges along going anti-clockwise from the storm. Ava is at practically the opposite side of the arena, whereas Rafe is around four wedges along, going clockwise from the storm.

Looking at the faces of the tributes many of them appear to be debating with themselves whether to head up towards the storm. Once the lightening stops there is bound to be water clinging to leaves, and this may be their only chance at getting water. Maybe there will be these sporadic storms just for that purpose. Briar spoke about putting a stop to lethal traps at certain times – are these storms what she was referring to? There are two red dots in the sector where the storm is taking place, moving as rapidly as they can towards safety. One is labelled 'Moss Holden 9,' while the other reads 'Saffron Honeyman 1.' Within seconds both lights are extinguished.

"Well, I'm out," calls a voice from the other end of the room. "Get us a drink in then, Haymitch." The voice belongs to a man of about thirty-five with a heavy scar running in a diagonal across his face. I have not spoken to him, but recognise him as Rudolphus Beven, one of the District Nine mentors. All of District Nine wiped out in under a day. Rudolphus doesn't seem too distressed by this fact.

After looking with initial interest towards the direction of the storm, dad's attention has returned to the spile. I finally understand, and I'm sure so does he, how terribly important such a gift is.

Something seems to attract dad's attention. The sounds of movement heading towards him; a rustling of branches or snapped twigs perhaps, and he quickly backs into his improvised shelter. Anyone walking past without looking closely shouldn't be able to see him, as long as he doesn't make himself known they'll just walk right past him.

I scramble round to the map, in order to work out who is approaching my father. My heart sinks when I see the dot heading towards his camp is marked 'Yohan Fairbain 5.' _Please just walk past him_, I silently plead. _Don't let him see you…. please don't let him see you…_.

He stops just ten feet or so from where my father is hidden, leaning against a tree for a moment to catch his breath. It is hard to tell whether dad can see who it is from his hiding place. _Keep moving, please, don't let him see you…_ Dad is shifting slightly, wanting to work out who is near him, then I watch as his eyes widen in recognition. _Don't do it dad, please…._

"Hey!" he calls out in a low voice. Yohan jumps and makes a startled noise of fear, but my dad is soon in view. His hands are held up in gesture of placation. "Shhh, it's ok, I'm not going to hurt you."

I'm almost becoming used to the feeling of vertigo, as if I'm standing on the edge of a tall summit with a high wind threatening to push me over. It returns with a vengeance. A single word, "Please," escapes my lips, and I feel Katniss by my side. Her hand reaches behind my head and pulls me in to her shoulder.

"It's ok," she whispers. "It's ok."

But it isn't ok. Now that dad has met up with that boy I can almost guarantee he won't be coming home alive. The small amount of hope I had at saving him flickers and dies. I rest my head on her shoulder and continue to watch as dad tries to gain the boy's trust. I want to turn away from the screens but find it impossible.

Yohan has frozen to the spot, clearly believing his death is approaching. "It's Yohan, isn't it?" my father says kindly. The boy nods but stays silent. "My name's Steffan. Have you eaten yet, Yohan?" Still remaining silent, the boy shakes his head. Dad reaches into the pocket in his belt and pulls out the half eaten iced cookie I sent to him. He holds it out to Yohan who eyes it suspiciously. Dad smiles his understanding and says, "It's ok, it's not poisoned. See?" He takes a small bite himself. Yohan edges a little closer, still looking like he's ready to bolt at any second. He reaches his hand out and grabs the cookie while staying as far away from my dad as possible. _Run away,_ I silently urge him. _Just take it and run, please._ I see him take a small bite, then a larger one, and his body visibly relaxes.

"Thank you," he says.

"You're very welcome," replies dad. He looks over towards where the storm is still raging. "I hope you weren't thinking of heading over there."

"I'm so thirsty," says Yohan.

Dad smiles. "I may be able to help with that too. Here," he indicates that Yohan should come a little closer. He pulls the spile out of his pocket, which again causes Yohan to gasp in fear a little. "It's ok," he says soothingly. "It isn't a weapon, I promise."

"What is it?"

"Here, can you see this?" he removes another of the iced cookies from his pocket. "Look at the icing."

I can see Yohan studying it in the moonlight. "Water's coming out of the trees."

"Exactly. Do you think we should give it a try?"

Yohan is still studying the cookie and nods while he speaks. "Where did this come from?"

Dad smiles, "They're from my son."

"Did he make them?"

"No. No, Peeta's cookies are far better than these, but he did the instructions. I'd recognise his work anywhere."

Yohan hands the cookie back to my dad. "I thought it was delicious."

"Well, you just wait til you get home. Get my boy to make you some. Perfection."

He kicks his feet awkwardly in the dirt. "I don't think I'll be getting much help," he says.

"Nonsense," says my father "I'm going to help."

"Why?"

"Because I want to," replies my father simply. "Now let's see if we can't make this gizmo work, hey?"

I take a deep shuddering breath as I watch him kneel down next to one of the larger trees in the area. It takes several minutes work for him to create a hole using the curved dagger he took from Esme Pinewood, and to then work the spile in to the hole. Almost immediately a trickle of water begins to pour from the end of the spile. Dad makes sure Yohan drinks first then takes several mouthfuls of liquid for himself.

"There," he says at last. "I think we should just steer clear of that storm, don't you?"

Yohan nods his agreement. I can no longer watch the screens, and turn in to Katniss's neck. My face is wet from tears. "Do you need to take a break?" Katniss whispers to me.

"I can't."

"You can, Peeta. Of course you can." She holds me steady, her hands gently roaming the back of my head, weaving in to my hair. "You don't have to carry this alone."

I feel overcome with exhaustion. When did I last have a full night's sleep? Not since being here in the Capitol. Between my fear of watching dad die and worrying about being summoned to whatever act of depravity Briar requires of me, I haven't found much time to switch off. I don't recall eating at all over the last two days either.

"You look dead on your feet, and you can't expect to help anyone when you're on the brink of collapse yourself."

Of course what she is saying makes sense, but I don't know if I can bring myself to walk away when dad could be in trouble at any moment. Not when there's even the smallest chance I could prevent that trouble.

"Peeta, please. At least go and lie down ok? There are televisions in our rooms so if you feel you must you can watch from there. Get some rest. For me?"

Almost against my will I feel myself nodding in agreement. "Come with me?" I ask her. I desperately don't want to be alone.

"Of course. Give me a minute."

She walks towards Haymitch, Chaff and Rudolphus at the bar. Haymitch looks over at me for a moment before nodding to Katniss. She returns to me and says, "He'll fetch us if anything major happens." She then takes my hand in her own and leads me back through the Centre. I follow her, unresisting and unable to speak, and before I know it she is opening the door to her rooms. She sits me down on the edge of her bed and kneels in front of me to help me take off my shoes.

The world is spinning around me due to exhaustion. With help I manage to take off my shirt and trousers and crawl up the bed. "Can you turn the tv on?" I ask Katniss. She obliges then lies down next to me. Clearly not much is going on at the moment; all that is being shown is a highlight of the day's events, with a running commentary from Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith. If any deaths or even the possibility of a death was happening, we would be watching action instead of recaps.

I fight to keep my eyes open, just in case, but I feel impossibly comfortable. Katniss is gently stroking my hair, and I can smell the scent of her hair on the pillows. I close my eyes just briefly, inhaling her scent deeply.

Outside our cave the rain is still pouring heavily. Thunder rolls in from the distance, and I am thankful once again that Katniss found me and hid me safely in here. Even if I hadn't been so grievously injured I wouldn't want to be outside in this weather; perhaps the gamemakers are hoping someone will become ill from being so thoroughly soaked. The audience were denied watching me die slowly, painfully and alone, but maybe they now have the taste for such a long drawn out death.

A sound from the mouth of the cave captures my attention. Both Katniss and I are alert. She grabs her bow and I grab my knife, but we are able to relax just a moment later. It is my father. Thank god he found us here and is no longer out in such horrifying weather. He has brought us fresh baked bread as well; a large cob loaf stuffed with pinenuts, ground almonds and raisins. He has also brought a flagon of fresh fruit juice, and a basket of blueberry muffins.

We sit together eating and drinking for a while. Conversation is easy and relaxed until I ask him how he found us here. He looks suddenly saddened and refuses to answer. Without speaking he heads out of the cave. I try to call him back but he ignores me. Katniss promises that she will fetch him back and heads out in to the rain after him. I try to protest but she too ignores my pleas.

I crawl to the mouth of the cave, but the rain is too heavy to see more than a few feet in front of me. I call for both of them, knowing full well how dangerous it is to give my position away so readily, but I have to know where they are. I call again and again, becoming more panicked as time goes on. When the cannon fires twice I fall to my knees; I don't need to wait until night falls to know whose deaths those blasts signified.

I slowly open my eyes. I can't believe they are gone. Katniss and my father, both dead. Except… I can still smell her. That glorious scent of her hair is still on the pillows.

I roll over on to my other side and my heart stops. There she is; alive and whole and more beautiful than I could ever remember her being before. How long was I asleep? I must have started dreaming the second my eyes were closed.

The television is still on and most of the tributes seem to have settled down for the night. Rafe however is still awake. The cameras show him back at the cornucopia, bent double as he catches his breath. There doesn't seem to be any tributes near him alive or dead, so I don't know what has caused him to be so out of breath, but he is looking back towards the outer edge of the arena, maybe at whatever it was he has apparently escaped.

I find the remote and switch the television off. Seeing yet another apparent success by Rafe doesn't make me feel any better. Instead I shift closer to Katniss; the relief at seeing her still alive is the closest I could get to joy at the moment. I put my arm over her and place a kiss on her forehead. Her eyes slowly flutter open and roam over my face. "I didn't mean to wake you," I whisper. I entwine my fingers in her hair and place another kiss on her lips. "I just thought I'd lost you again."

"I'm still here," she says quietly. "How long have we been asleep?"

"I don't know. When did we get in here?"

"A little before one o'clock."

I look at the digital display on her bedside clock. It reads 3:17 a.m. "It's only been a couple of hours," I say.

"We should try and get some more rest," says Katniss. "Two hours isn't enough." She kisses my lips with the softest, sweetest kiss imaginable and turns away from me. She pulls my arm around her and pushes her back firmly into me. I pull her as close to my body as I physically can. I close my eyes and do my best to relax. Lying here, even without sleep, is sure to be reviving. I promise myself another two hours before I will return to the main control room. If I manage sleep, excellent. If not… At least those two hours will be spent with Katniss in my arms. I place another kiss on the back of her head. She doesn't respond; she has already fallen asleep again. I inhale her scent deeply and on my exhalation three words quietly escape my lips.

"I love you."

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**A/N – Please leave a review, they do make chapters appear faster!**


	19. Chapter 19

I awake suddenly and look over at the clock. It reads 6:34 a.m. I have slept more than an hour longer than I intended. In a panic I throw myself into action. I grab the remote and turn the television on, desperate for any snippet of information in relation to my dad. I quickly grab my clothes, and throw them on as quickly as possible.

A name mentioned on the television draws my attention.

"….dramatic escape by District Twelve tribute, Ava Herriot."

I reach for the remote again and turn the sound up. As I do Katniss stirs on the bed. "What's happening?" she asks.

"Something to do with Ava."

She sits up, eyes trained on the TV, fear apparent in her body language.

"Let's just watch this moment again, this girl has a will to survive that we possibly missed in her before!"

A recap is shown of Ava setting several traps and snares around the area she had been camping. She looks weak from a mix of thirst, hunger and exhaustion, but there is determination in her as she weaves traps and snares from the readily available vines.

A terrifying animalistic roar comes from the screen. From Ava's reaction it seems to be all around her; she has absolutely no idea where to turn to. She stays entirely still for a moment judging her next move when from the undergrowth comes the sound of snapping branches.

One of the adult female tributes comes running in to Ava's view, and Ava immediately turns and runs from her; she has no weapon with which to fight. But the female doesn't seem to be interested in targeting Ava. Instead she is fleeing for her life from whatever had created that terrible roar.

Ava is quick and light on her feet and has remembered exactly where she has placed all of her traps. She darts and weaves and avoids every single one. The older woman is not so lucky. She crashes through the jungle and moments later is tripped then hoisted up in the air by an expertly set snare. She screams for help, and Ava pauses in her running. She turns around on the spot looking back at the woman who has been left helpless and who is begging Ava for assistance. She takes a hesitant step towards her, then stumbles backwards as we see what the other woman was running from.

A mutt, larger than any I have ever seen comes tearing in to view. This creature is about three or four times the size of a man, lizard-like, walking on two legs. His enormous spiked tale thrashes the ground, and as he spies the helpless woman screaming in terror he roars again.

Ava has practically frozen. She slowly backs away in horror, her eyes as wide as saucers, then the mutt pounces. He is on the strung-up woman in a split second, his teeth tearing her in half, his claws rendering what was left of her a bloody and mangled pulp, and it is only this sight which seems to bring Ava back to her senses and causes her to run. The mutt spies her next and with another roar he starts to chase after her. The traps and snares she has set in this area will do nothing to stop this giant of a beast, but Ava has the gift of speed on her side. She runs as fast as her legs will carry her.

Katniss gasps as Ava trips over a root sticking out of the ground and falls. She turns on the ground to see the mutt coursing towards her, and holds her hands over her head, knowing that death is approaching, but the strangest thing happens. The mutt suddenly stops in his tracks. He eyes her malevolently and paces back and forth before retreating back in to the jungle with another roar.

The announcer gives the name of the woman eaten by this beast as Marji Crille from District Eight, before the attention is given back to Ava. She has regained her footing and is swiftly moving through the jungle, even more exhausted than before and now running on pure adrenaline.

Katniss seems to have forgotten to breathe. Her face reflects the horror we have just witnessed, and I'm sure takes us both back to last year; that last showdown at the cornucopia, the wolf mutts bearing down upon us. Next time either of us manage to sleep, we are sure to dream of teeth. I suppress a shudder at the thought.

"Are you coming back, or staying here?" I ask her. She shakes the violent images away and says she will catch up to me.

I turn to the screen once more in time to see a parachute land in front of Ava. She cries with relief as she opens it to find a tiny bottle of water, barely more than a few mouthfuls. Haymitch has been doing a better job than either Katniss or I have. And at least he's been able to do it without whoring himself. I hate myself for the thought and leave Katniss to prepare herself for the day.

A memory from last night comes back to me. As I was falling asleep I told Katniss I loved her… and she didn't respond. Was she asleep and didn't hear me? Or was she pretending so she wouldn't feel obliged to answer? Is she as disgusted at my behaviour as I am? I pray it's the former answer.

I wander back through the corridors of the training centre as if in a trance, dreading what will meet me at my destination.

As I walk back in to the main bar I cannot believe that there are still Capitol citizens awake and celebrating. Many of them, Briar included, hardly look to have moved since I left the bar last night. What confuses me is how bright, alert and chipper they all appear to be; these certainly don't look like people who have been drinking and celebrating solidly for almost nineteen hours solid.

Haymitch, on the other hand, looks exactly like someone who has been drinking for nearly a day without pause. Slumped down in a seat facing the screens, eyes barely open, a glass next to him that has been knocked over, spilling the amber liquid over the floor.

As I approach him he slowly raises his heavily lidded eyes to meet mine. When he speaks it is carefully and deliberately, as if he has to pull each word from the depths of his memory banks before saying it out loud. "If she don't move soon… she'll be dead." He raises his hand to point to Ava's screen.

I look at where he is pointing. Ava is still picking her way through the jungle, away from where she nearly met her end at the jaws and claws of the giant mutt. But she doesn't appear to be in any immediate danger.

"Isa clock," slurs Haymitch. "See?" He points to the screen showing the overview of the whole arena. "Different traps each zone. Five minutes. Gone."

I check the time. 6:54 a.m. Does this explain why the mutt suddenly seemed to lose interest in Ava? She'd crossed out the borders of his time zone? She's reasonably close to the beach in the sector she is currently in, but too far away to make it to the next wedge, and if Haymitch is correct this means she only has six minutes before whatever trap this area of the arena is hiding comes to life.

I swallow heavily. "Do you know what will happen?"

He shrugs. "Your guess's as good as mine."

I quickly find my father on the map. He and Yohan haven't moved from their shelter since last night. If other tributes have come past them they were clearly well hidden and were left undisturbed. If I have understood Haymitch correctly, and the sector that Ava is in is about to spring to life, it means that dad will have to move in the next three hours to have a chance at survival.

"Summa these deaths aint been pretty,"

"How many?"

"Huh?"

"How many people have died? How many are left?"

"Jeez, kid, questions, questions, questions! Dunno. Some. Not everyone."

I watch the screens with anticipation as the last few minutes count down until the trap in Ava's sector is activated. I look at her face, still flushed from the chase and full of a mix of fear and adrenaline. There is nothing we can do, and I hope that whatever happens is quick and painless.

I look at the clock. It has just turned 7:00 a.m. My breath catches and again I find myself unable to look away.

Something by Ava's feet grabs her attention. She shakes her head as if whatever she noticed was a figment of her imagination and carries on with her trek. After a minute or two she stops again and looks closer, then yelps in fear. The vines appear to have come to life. One wraps itself around her ankle and trips her. She reaches out and grabs hold of a sharp stone that was lucky enough to be within reach of her grasp and she furiously hacks at the vine until released. But more and more vines are springing to life, trying to trap her. As they grab her she slashes with the sharp stone. Her speed is again her saviour. She knows she isn't far from the beach, and it is to here that she is heading. After several fraught minutes she breaks free of the jungle and stands panting in the morning sunlight.

The vines seem to be trying to escape the jungle too. For a second she feels she has been granted a reprieve, but they shoot out and trip her once more, trying to drag her back in to the deadly jungle. She never gives up, hacking and slashing and tearing, until she once again finds her footing and runs as fast as possible towards one of the spokes connecting the outer arena to the central island. She darts along this until she reaches the cornucopia itself.

"Clever," says Haymitch.

I check the arena map. Surprisingly no one is left at the cornucopia. Not a single tribute has stuck around to guard the remainder of the supplies. I ask Haymitch about this. "Rafe," is his reply. "Fought them. They cleared out. He's well decked out." Is it possible for my stomach to drop any lower at such news? I didn't think it could be. I was wrong.

Ava soon realises the cornucopia is free from other tributes. She takes the opportunity to collapse on the floor, relatively safe at last. There are a few backpacks left laying around and she grabs everything she can, dragging them into the mouth of the cornucopia, where she will be hidden from view and can check the supplies at her leisure.

"Very clever. Underestimated her."

With Ava out of the way I return my attention to my father. Back in training he took my advice to learn about edible plants and is currently gathering tree roots, nuts and berries. Three hours. Something has to make him move within three hours. My eyes flick over to Briar who is talking animatedly with the same two women from yesterday. Again I am amazed by how alert they appear. Part of me considers talking to Briar for help again, but I fear for the price. I will have to make this decision soon however; three hours will not take long to pass.

Haymitch is sliding further and further down in the armchair. If I am going to do this without selling out to Briar again I'm going to need his help, which means getting him to sober up. I head to the bar, order a large black coffee, a tea, a jug of water and a selection of pastries.

As I'm waiting for my order to arrive I notice a waft of familiar perfume. I become aware of Briar's close proximity but say nothing. "It's not looking good, is it?"

"We'll see," I respond quietly.

"My offer still stands, you know."

I consider my words carefully. "It is certainly very generous of you," I begin. "And of course if I need help, you'll be the first to know."

"If?" she sneers. "More like 'when.' I'll be right here when you need me."

She returns to her friends and I watch her go with apprehension. Three hours to save his life. She may well be right.

I return to Haymitch with the breakfast. I take a pastry for myself and my stomach moans in protest at the addition of food after such along absence. Haymitch has fallen asleep while I've been at the bar. "Oi!" I say loudly, trying to shake him awake while keeping my distance; experience has taught me that being too close to Haymitch when he wakes isn't a wise idea. He wakes suddenly with a loud cry, lashing out in front of him. His eyes slowly focus on me. "Drink this," I tell him indicating the coffee.

"Why?"

"I need your help. Dad needs your help."

"What d'you expect me to do?"

"I don't know. There has to be something," I plead. "Anything."

"M'in no state to help anyone," he says, sliding down his chair again.

In anger I toss the water over him. He lashes out again, "The fuck you doing, huh?"

"Don't tell me you're in no state. Where did Ava get that water from, huh? It was less than an hour ago. Don't tell me you've drunk yourself in to oblivion in less than an hour. If you were capable then you're capable now, so get up off your drunken arse and help me!"

"Water? What?"

I feel like I'm losing my grip on this conversation. "The water. You sent Ava a bottle of water."

He snorts. "Not me. Told you, um no help to no one."

"Then where'd she get it?"

He runs his hands over his face in frustration pushing dripping wet hair from his eyes, "A sponsor, Peeta. Not me. They do what they want. We nudge them, cajole them, push them the way we want, but in the end they can do it themselves. Nothing to do with me."

"So. What you're saying is we're useless, right? We should just not care?"

He starts clapping slowly and sarcastically. "Eureka. Bread boy's finally learning."

I want to hate Haymitch for what he's saying. But as I look at him all I can feel is pity. "You don't believe that for a second. You do care. Don't you? That's why you do this to yourself. You care too much."

He refuses to look at me and I am sure I have hit a nerve. But his news hits me harder. He can't help me. In the silence between us Briar and her friends take the opportunity to laugh especially raucously at some private joke. I glance over at her again. Haymitch follows my line of sight. "Is he really worth putting yourself through all that?"

I clench my jaw and nod tightly. "Yes," I say quietly.

He gestures around the room. "And this… This'd make him happy, you think?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what world awaits him if he wins. You think this'll make him happy? He'll be comfortable in these sort of surroundings, will he? I don't know him, Peeta, you do. Maybe he will." He grabs the coffee I bought him, pours the dregs from his spilt glass in to it and knocks the lot back in two gulps before leaning back in his chair.

I can no longer bear to talk to him. My feet begin to move me inexorably towards Briar and her entourage. There is truth in what Haymitch has said. Is this really a world I want to draw him in to? But I cannot imagine a world in which he no longer exists.

As I approach her she looks up. "Peeta!" she exclaims, "Come and join us!" Another of her mood swings perhaps? She seems so jovial and easy going all of a sudden. She pulls out a bar stool and lightly pats the seat. I sidle up to her and perch on the proffered seat. "I bet I can guess why you're here."

I take a deep breath. "What we spoke about before… Can you put a stop to it?"

She smiles at me. "Awwww, so cute. No." She taps the end of my nose in a condescending manner, as if I were a small child.

"But you promised-"

"Shhhh. I have a little secret," she says.

Damiana Ivory starts giggling, "Briar, stop it, we'll get in trouble!"

"It's ok. Peeta's good at keeping secrets, aren't you, dear?" I nod, hoping beyond hope that whatever this little game she is playing is, it will help dad in the long run. She lowers her voice and leans in close to my ear. "Feedback on this arena has been… a little less than enthusiastic. Too many tributes being killed by the arena, not enough killing each other. So, when it comes back to midday the traps will be set off randomly, and only if things need to be livened up a little."

This is promising news indeed, except that my father will still be encountering something before the cycle of traps is cut off. "But dad-" I begin to protest.

"We may be able to make him move. Those cookies you sent before were certainly a novel idea." She winks at me, and I understand her meaning. Send him some more food, ice it with some kind of diagram, and hopefully get him out of there. "I'd want something… special from you though. Do we have a deal?"

"Something special?" I repeat, not liking how ominous those words sound coming from her mouth.

"Oh, don't look so worried," she says, gently shoving my shoulder. "Do you want me to help you or not?"

"Of course I do, but-"

"Well, that's settled then." She reaches in to her pocket and withdraws a small ornately decorated and bejewelled box. She opens this up and inside is full of a white powder. She takes a small pinch of this and places it to her nostril, inhaling deeply. Almost immediately she starts to giggle again. "Pick-me-up?" she says, offering me the box. I politely decline. "Suit yourself. You ready then, sweetie?"

It feels like a death sentence being passed down on to me, but I nod and follow in her wake.

As we are leaving Katniss is approaching, stress etching worry lines in to her forehead. She sees me walking with Briar and I flash her minute shake of my head in warning to not say anything. But I am still grateful that as she passes me she grabs hold of my wrist and pulls me in to her, placing a deep kiss upon my lips. "You too," she whispers to me before letting me go.

My heart lifts. What does she mean by that? Is she replying to what I said last night? Did she hear after all? I watch her disappear into the bar, and the storm clouds raging over me appear to dissipate somewhat. When a small amount of heaven reveals itself in the midst of hell…. perhaps I can cope with this after all.

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**A/N – Thanks for reading, and an especially big thanks to Prim-Rue94 for the massive support and encouragement. Cheers, doll!**

**I was thinking about the mechanics of this particular arena. I was always of the impression that the victors having to go back in was not random chance that had been decided 75 years ago, it was by Snow's design and wish to crush the growing rebellion. And this arena couldn't have been designed overnight – many of them were years in the making, so this arena would have been used for the Quell, no matter who was going in. But so many previous victors were killed just by the arena traps, and I'm certain that's not what the Capitol audiences really wanted to see, hence why they'll be random from now on, not just in keeping with the clock theme.**

**So yeah, please leave a review, they are the bread, non-dairy butter, water and oxygen of a fanfiction writer. Ta all!**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N – Massive apologies for the long wait for this update. More wedding hoohah! It was my hen-do, which was pretty damned epic (and took a couple of days to recover from!) my niece's fifth birthday, which took up a day of baking before hand, I had auditions and rehearsals, and general life stopping me from writing. **

**That being said, to make up for the delay, this is a sligtly longer than usual chapter. Enjoy!**

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We follow the same procedure as before. Three plain cookies are ordered, along with some simple royal icing. As quickly as I am able I sketch out a rough design of the arena on one, with markings to show that the arena was governed by the time. On another I draw a clock face, showing lightning at the 12 o'clock position. There isn't enough room to go in to detail on any of the other positions, and not knowing what happened in most sectors anyway I have to make do by icing a basic skull and crossbones by each number. I hope this is enough to indicate imminent danger. On the final cookie I ice a rather peculiar looking character. One of the stories dad used to tell us as children was about a character he had invented called The Pillow Man. The Pillow Man would appear whenever a child was in danger, and he would wrap them in his pillow arms and protect them from all harm, ushering them away from the danger. I used to sketch how I thought he looked when he would appear to those children in need of his protection. After I witnessed the death of Kern's friend in those first Hunger Games I ever saw I stopped believing in The Pillow Man; there was no way he could allow children to be hurt like that, so there was no way he could exist. But I hope dad remembers him, and remembers the drawings I did of him. Hopefully his appearance will be enough to convince dad that they are in danger, and that they have to move.

The monetary cost of sending a few cookies in to the arena has more than tripled in just a few short hours. Briar doesn't seem in any way fazed by the coins she spent on sending them down in to the arena.

On our return to the bar, Briar turns to me. "I'll let you know when I require reimbursement for this, Peeta." She places a hand on my chest, her eyes roving up and down my body.

I surreptitiously bite my bottom lip to stop it from shaking. "Not yet, then?"

"Oh no, sweetie. I'm not ready for you yet. I'll be in touch." She reaches behind me and grabs my bum, giving it a squeeze before retreating away to rejoin her friends. She greets them exuberantly, and pulls that ornate box of hers out again. She takes another pinch of that white powder and offers it to all her friends, who all partake. The sleaziness of this world will never fail to astound and disgust me.

I shake my head and seek out Katniss. She is sat with Haymitch, picking at the remaining pastries. I join her and take a swig from the tea I'd left before, wrinkling my nose in repulsion as I do. Not only has it gotten far too cold for my liking, but Katniss has clearly claimed it as her own and desecrated it with at least two sugars. "That's disgusting," I tell her as I pass it back to her.

"It's not!" she says in protest, taking a sip and sighing appreciatively.

"You can get me a new one," I say with a smile as I take an apricot pastry, tear it in half and give the larger of the two halves to Katniss.

"Oh, can I?" she responds, a mischievous glint in her eye. She takes a bite of the pastry, and a small crumb sticks to the corner of her lip. I brush it away for her and cup her cheek as I do. She holds my gaze for a moment, and reaches up to touch my hand. She closes her eyes as she does so and sighs slightly. For a split second I forget the situation we are in, and just enjoy the moment. I pull her hand to my mouth and place a gentle kiss on her fingers tips.

I want to take her away now. I want to scoop her up in my arms and carry her away from the Capitol, away from the Games and back to Twelve. I want to take her to my old bedroom above the bakery, ignoring the space of our houses in the Victor's Village. Right now I don't want anything to do with the Capitol, I just want Katniss in my cramped old room with the lumpy mattress and the tiny cracked window that offers nothing more glamorous than a close up view of the haberdasher's brick wall next door.

I break away from her gaze; it is pointless harbouring such thoughts. Wishing we could have what we do without the involvement of the Capitol… It would never have happened. And besides, there are more pressing matters at hand.

I look at dad's screen just in time to see the parachute land in front of him. Katniss places a hand on my knee and grips me gently, sending a tingling sensation up my thigh. I do my best to ignore it and focus my concentration on the screens.

He and Yohan had been sitting down to a makeshift breakfast; a pitiful handful of berries each and a few nuts to supplement. I look at the tray with the selection of all the pastries I had ordered and my stomach contracts in painful guilt. When the parachute drops dad and Yohan open it up together, and Yohan lets out a little moan of longing as he sees the fresh cookies. I watch my father's face as he studies the icing on these, a slight frown creasing his forehead as he does. When he finally checks the cookie with the Pillow Man drawing his breath hitches in his throat, and he hastily wipes away a tear. He shows them to Yohan, and I briefly have to stop watching the screens as he explains the drawing of the Pillow Man by retelling Yohan one of my favourite childhood bedtime stories.

"What do you think, then?" he says to the small boy on screen.

"You don't think it's safe to stay here?"

"Definitely not. Not if The Pillow Man is telling us to move."

"Maybe it's safer in the middle?"

Dad looks at the two first cookies, with the arena and the clock face. My heart stops. I haven't drawn anything to indicate that these traps will stop. I should have told him to head for the twelve o'clock wedge; that he will be relatively as safe as possible if he heads up that way.

"I think we head to the middle, then try and cut back behind the clock. We'll stay behind the danger that way. We don't want to stay out in the open too long."

"Do you think… maybe…. What if there are people in the middle?"

"You let me worry about that." Dad ruffles the boy's hair in such a familiar manner that it makes my heart hurt to see. They share one of the cookies and start the trek towards the beach.

"Here," Katniss's voice intrudes on my concentration. She hands me a steaming hot mug of tea unsullied by sugar.

"Thank you." I blow a little on the scalding hot liquid and take a sip. I can't believe I left that important detail from the icing. If my stupid mistake draws him in to the open and gets him killed… And what about Ava? She's there, at the cornucopia, with all the remaining supplies; would she be able to kill? I don't know if dad could bring himself to harm her.

As we watch their progress, a jovial voice enters the bar and calls out, "Morning all! Who's left then?" Chaff looks like he managed at least a few hours sleep without a worry in the world. He heads off to talk to Seeder, the other District Eleven mentor. As he does I'm struck by an odd observance. There are two mentors from each District. I know that there are plenty of other living Victors, but only two come each year to perform as mentors. So why are we allowed three of us? Perhaps to keep up appearances? Or does most of the Capitol think of us as just a single unified identity?

I don't know the answer but I am grateful that we don't have to do this alone. I imagine coming here without Katniss by my side, or having her come here without me, or even the two of us bumbling our way through trying to help our tributes without even Haymitch's drunken advice to guide us.

I realise that I haven't actually checked the boards yet to see who survived the night. The boy from Ten, the girls from Two and Three, and the men from Five and Eight all died at some point. Where and how I don't know. But where there was once life, now there is nothing.

I keep slowly sipping at my tea, watching dad's every step through the jungle. Katniss places her hand just above my knee and gives it a gentle squeeze. I place my hand on top of hers but don't take my eyes from the screen.

Finally they break free from the tree-line. Dad ushers Yohan in front of him and keeps darting his eyes from side to side to ensure their safety. He stands on the beach looking towards the central island. "There doesn't seem to be anyone there," he says. "Let's go." They make their way to one of the spokes, and here dad takes the lead. They edge their way along as quickly as they can to the cornucopia.

As dad reaches the middle it becomes apparent that they are not as alone as they initially thought. Ava is still searching through the remaining supplies and when my father shows up with Yohan she freezes solid, her eyes darting to the curved dagger by dad's side.

"You ok?" he asks her after a while. She nods slowly, eyes never leaving the weapon. "Found anything useful?"

"N-not much yet," she answers timidly.

The three of them are in a strange kind of purgatory. No-one seems particularly willing to make the first move.

"Well," says my father. "We should…."

"LOOK OUT!" screams Ava at the top of her voice.

I have been so intent on watching dad that I hadn't paid attention to anything else going on. Dad spins on the spot, and I desperately seek out a screen that shows on overview of the action, so I can see what has caused Ava alarm.

The boy from Two is running along one of the spokes towards them. Dad turned around just in time to see a barbed spear hurtling through the air towards him. Ava's shriek allowed him to duck to the side, as the spear misses him by inches and buries itself into the side of the cornucopia. The boy from Two realises his mistake but already has withdrawn two lethal looking long, thin three pronged daggers. An announcer 'helpfully' informs the watching audience that these daggers are ancient weapons known as sai.

He charges at dad with the force of a raging bull, but thankfully dad is ready for him. Like my brothers and I, in his day dad was good at wrestling and it's clear he has remembered at least some of his moves. He has grounded himself well and braced himself for impact. I risk a quick check of the illuminated board showing the names and odds for each tribute. This boy is Titus Malvern, with current odds of 5-1. Bile rises inside me looking at those two numbers and I snap back to the monitor, almost unable to breathe.

In the split second I had looked away, Titus had reached my father who had side stepped at the last possible moment, and knocked the boy off balance. This gave him enough time to reach his dagger. He slashes out at Titus who easily blocks every single blow using the sai. As he blocks one of the strikes he twists the handle of the sai sharply. This causes the blade of dad's dagger to snap while also yanking the handle from his grip. I watch the broken weapon tumble uselessly into the sand. "No…" I whisper and I feel Katniss hand snake behind my back for comfort and support.

Yohan and Ava who were shocked in to stillness by the appearance of this boy have started to rouse themselves. Ava is struggling to pull the embedded spear from the side of the cornucopia, but the barbs are making it difficult to pull out again. Yohan is unarmed but runs at Titus's back and jumps at him, his tiny hands trying to wrap around the older boy's throat. Titus dislodges him easily by thrusting his elbow backwards and smacking Yohan in the face. Blood immediately begins to pour from Yohan's obviously broken nose. He may not have been able to do any damage to Titus, but the moment of distraction gave my father enough leeway to at least be able to twist one of the sai daggers from Titus's grip. In anger Titus kicks forward violently, catching my father in the stomach. Dad drops to his knees and I feel as winded as he must do, knowing that the end must surely be approaching.

I'm shaking in fear and anticipation as I watch Titus kick dad one more time to the ground. He takes back the sai dad had managed to wrestle from his grip and tucks it into his belt. He holds the other sai over dad's face and plunges it down. I can't watch. I close my eyes as tears stream down my face, and I wait for the inevitable canon fire.

But the canon fire doesn't come. Dad hasn't given up yet. I slowly open my eyes again and see that dad caught Titus by the wrist, and stopped the sai from stabbing his face. Unlike his earlier tussle with Esme from District Seven, Titus is a match for his strength and the two of them are struggling for control over the blade.

Ava has given up her fruitless struggle of trying to remove the embedded spear and instead is scrabbling around in the sand. She finds the handle of dad's broken dagger and picks it up. My heart begins to lift; there is still a sliver of a blade left attached to the handle. There is fear and apprehension in her eyes as she understands what she has to do. She runs to where dad and Titus are still fighting over control of the sai and plunges the broken blade down in to Titus's back.

The shock and surprise registers immediately on Titus's face. He can't seem to understand what has happened to him. He coughs and as he does blood splatters over dad's face. Ava must have punctured his lung. Dad pushes him back, and Titus clearly understands it's all over for him. He is struggling to breathe, slowly drowning in his own blood. Between his shallow, gurgling breaths he manages to rasp out, "Help…me…"

Dad is still recovering from the struggle but he crawls over to where Titus has sat himself up and is slowly dying. "How?" he asks him gently.

"Make….it…quick…."

Dad nods sadly at the boy. He crawls behind him, places an arm around the boy's shoulders and his other at the side of his head. He jerks Titus's head to the side in one quick, sudden movement, and the boy immediately falls limp in his arms. The canon fires and I let a dry, hacking sob that I had been holding in.

"It's ok," soothes Katniss to the side of me. "He's ok."

I watch in a kind of trance as dad quickly gathers the sai before they get removed along with Titus's body. "Thank you," he says to Ava, as he kneels down next to Yohan to check on his broken nose. "So… are you coming with us?"

She seems to be weighing up her options. She has been managing ok on her own, but she also must know that she never would have survived a fight with Titus on her own. "Ok," she says eventually.

Dad leads Yohan to the sea and manages to at least wash some of the blood from his face. When he's satisfied that the young boy is no longer bleeding he asks him, "Can you remember which way we came from?" Yohan points to the correct wedge. "Let's head this way, then," says dad, pointing towards the wedge where Ava had her encounter with the mutt.

"No!" she says forcefully. "It's not safe down there!"

"It will be, I promise."

"No!" she says again. "No, I'm not going back there, please don't make me!"

"Ok," he says placatingly, and he points to a wedge a couple anti clockwise along from where Ava refused to go back. "How about this way?"

She nods and the three of them together dart as quickly as possible along one of the spokes. Only when they return to the cover of the jungle do I feel able to breathe fully again.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" Katniss says to me. I quickly check the arena map. The three of them are the only ones in their sector right now. I nod and she takes my hand, leading me away. I feel as if I am in a daze as she walks me away from the bustling hub centre of the games. "He's doing well," she says.

I try to swallow but my mouth has gone entirely dry. I don't want to talk about the games, or about my father, or about the Capitol or any of its residents. I just want to forget and feel normal just for a while.

"He could still win, you know."

"Katniss, please don't," I say. "Please?"

"Ok." She slips her arms around my waist and rests her head against my chest. I hold her close to me and place a gentle kiss on top of her head. She sighs deeply. "I want to see you smile again."

"Me too."

"What will it take?"

How do I answer this? All I have ever wanted is a simple life with the woman in my arms. I've only ever had one or the other. A thought occurs to me, something I need clarification over. "Earlier… You said 'you too.' What did you mean?"

She pauses. "I think you know."

"Then say it."

"Peeta, I'm not good with words."

"Please?"

She brings a hand up behind my head and pulls me to her lips. They feel impossibly soft against my own and I can't help but return her kiss. I pull away just long enough to whisper to her, "Please?" but instead of answering she kisses me again, deeper this time, her tongue flicking lightly over mine.

She breaks away just long enough to say, "I can show you."

She takes my hand and begins walking the familiar route back towards our rooms. With every step my heart seems to be pounding louder and faster, and is unbearably uncomfortable by the time we reach her door. She unlocks it and steps inside, her eyes full of desire. I follow her and pull the door closed behind me. She peppers my lips and neck with soft, fluttering kisses, grabs hold of the front of my shirt and pulls me towards the bed.

Am I able to do this? With my father in constant danger, and the knowledge that I have to 'pay' Briar back at some point, am I really able to push these dark thoughts aside and just focus on the woman in front of me? She climbs on to the bed and pulls her top straight over her head and all doubts are put aside. "Come to me," she says, her voice husky and I am almost undone on the spot. I join her on the bed, placing my hands on the gentle curves of her slender waist. She makes a satisfied groan in the back of her throat as I press my lips in to hers once again.

"Let me make you happy," she says as she begins to unbutton my shirt. Her hands roam over my chest and stomach, and she pauses for a moment before allowing her hands to rub over the obvious tent forming in my trousers. I inhale sharply as she does so, and she once again captures my lips in a deep, passionate kiss.

I need to touch her too, and place my hands over her perfect breasts. Through the thin cotton of her bra I feel her nipples grow hard under my touch. I pull the cloth down, exposing her dusky, pebbled nipple and lower my head to it. I flick my tongue over it, pull it in to my mouth, allow my teeth to gently graze over the exposed sensitive flesh and am rewarded with the throaty moans that indicate her pleasure.

I need to see more of her. I reach around behind her back and fumble with the catch on her bra, getting more and more frustrated as the damned thing doesn't want to undo. She giggles a little, reaches behind her own back and in a second the offending article has been discarded on the floor.

"And the rest," I say. She shimmies out of her trousers and underwear, and lays back on the bed so I can take in the full sight of her naked body.

She is glorious. Her braid spills down over one shoulder, her breasts pert, her stomach taught. "And you," she says to me.

I undress as quickly as I can and lay down beside her, my erection pressing in to her hip. Her hand runs up and down my side as we kiss.

"Lay on your back," she says as she looks in to my eyes.

I do as she asks me, and she reaches in to her bedside cabinet, taking another of those pills she took before to prevent pregnancy. She then climbs on top of my lap and places herself over me. I feel her hot wetness over me, and my cock twitches to try and meet with it. "Don't you want me to make you happy first?" I say to her but instead of answering she smiles, takes me in her hand and guides me in to her.

As she buries me inside her core all the pain and anguish seems to melt away, and all I am left with is the knowledge of how utterly wonderful this feels. She moves slowly, rocking her hips back and forth, breathy gasps escaping from her with each movement.

It feels impossibly good. I run my hands over her thighs, across her back, over her bum, revelling in her perfect skin. "Katniss," I breathe, as the feeling of pleasure begins to intensify. This is going to be over far too soon. "Katniss, please wait a moment…" She smiles and shakes her head, and starts to move faster. "Please… I can't…. I won't be able to stop it…"

This seems to be her intention. The pressure inside me is building and building, until I'm crying out her name. She clamps her muscles down around me, milking my orgasm for every last drop. She drops her head to my mouth and softly kisses my lips then climbs off me and lays down next me. "I think actions speak louder, don't you think?"

I can't help but smile as she says this to me. "Actions are good," I agree. "Actions feel pretty damn amazing." I push a few loose strands of her hair from her face. "Can I make you happy now?"

She smiles and I want to remember the look on her face forever. "This wasn't about me. I know how you feel about me. I wanted to show you how I feel."

"So… Can I make you happy now?"

That perfect smile again. "Well… actions are good."

I reach between her legs, amazed by how incredibly wet she is, and finding that bundle of nerves that she pointed out to me before, slowly circling over it in the way I know that she likes. It doesn't take long before she comes undone in front of me. "Thank you," she whispers.

We lie together a while, the only sounds I can hear that of our own breathing. A twinge of guilt starts to pull at my conscience. "We should head back," I say.

We dress in silence, and as we do I feel the anxiety beginning to return. The bliss we shared was wonderful, but until dad is safe back in Twelve, it won't last forever.

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**A/N – The Pillow Man was inspired by the play The Pillowman by Martin McDonagh. I'd recommend everyone read that play, purely because of how awesome it is. My Pillow Man is a much nicer guy though, in that he just protects children. The Pillowman protects suicidal adults from their lives of misery by travelling back in time to when they were children, and showing them the jars of pills that look like sweets, getting them to cross the road without looking etc... It's a very dark play but utterly brilliant.  
**

** Please leave a review, they are the lifeblood of a fanfiction writer!**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N – Firstly apologies for the major delay in getting this chapter written, although I won't apologise for the main reason because I GOT MARRIED! Huzzah! Best day ever and all that! So been understandably busy doing other things :) **

**Secondly I had an idea for another fic which I have started; please check it out. It's called Sabotaged Heart and is a modern AU, and this is the first time I have attempted such a thing, so I would really appreciate the feedback.**

**Finally this was an incredibly hard chapter to write. A few people wanted warnings if there was going to be any more Finnick/Peeta. Well, consider yourself warned. This chapter contains more non-con sex as well as mild drug use so please look away now if you are going to be hugely offended. This was not easy to write but was very necessary as you will see eventually.**

**One other random little note; everyone has a different idea about how Peeta's prosthetic works. Just so you know, I always pictured it as non-removable. Quite realistic looking but nowhere near as advanced as say, Luke Skywalker's mechanical hand. So it would only be obvious up close.**

* * *

At midday there is a downpour that covers the entire arena, with the absence of the lightening that came with the rain at midnight. Briar had said that the general consensus on these Games so far has been that too many deaths have occurred too soon, and too many of them due to the arena. It appears that the gamemakers have listened to the fans in the Capitol. With only a small handful of tributes receiving gifts of water, and dad being the only one with regular access to water, many of the tributes were so close to the brink of collapse that the gamemakers have been forced to provide something safe to drink.

Once safely inside the jungle dad managed to erect a shelter similar to the original one. He had already provided the small group with drinking water, and then got to work on the shelter, which meant that when the rain started to pour they were able to hide from it and stay in relative comfort. Other tributes have become soaked to the bone in their desperation to quench their thirst. After around half an hour the rain stops abruptly. Who knows when the next life giving downpour will come?

Even though I know that no-one has died since dad's battle with Titus I can't help but check the boards every few minutes. Not much more than a day in and already the forty eight tributes have been whittled down to eighteen. All Districts have lost at least one tribute but we seem to be doing better than most. Along with us, Districts One and Four have only lost a single tribute each. All others have lost at least two or three. Districts Eight and Nine are out of the games entirely.

Having finally sent Haymitch to bed as he was proving no use to anyone, Katniss and have spent the morning talking with some of the Capitol citizens to try and convince them to sponsor our tributes. This hasn't been proving easy. Katniss shows her disdain for them far too readily and most of the ones not put off by her abruptness only want to sponsor Rafe. It is little wonder that Haymitch struggled to get help to the District Twelve tributes over the years. They simply aren't interested in such an outlying District, unless someone with real skill and intrigue, such as Katniss, or vicious bloodlust, like Rafe, is handed to them. The affable, likeable approach simply doesn't attract their attention.

As if to underline this fact the noise in the bar starts to grow to fever pitch. It would appear that Rafe has just been found by the man from Seven, who looks as if he is only just past standard reaping age himself. He is armed with a spiked club and is both fast and strong. I can't remember his score awarded by the Gamemakers, but a quick check of the board informs me that this is Ash Burrell whose current odds stand at 10-1. Not bad. I can't believe I'm actually willing someone from a different district to beat one of our own tributes, but the thought of what Rafe will do out of spite if he finds dad is far too chilling to entertain.

Ash and Rafe were momentarily startled by the appearance of each other as they stumbled from opposite ends of a slight clearing but soon regain their composure.

"Alright, Twelve?" says Ash as he swings the club by his side.

"Not bad, Seven," replies Rafe, pretending to examine his own weapon and holding the cleaver up so that the blade glints slightly in a ray of sun. "As good as could be expected. You?"

"I'll be better soon," he replies.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. When you're out of the way."

Rafe smirks. "Killed anyone yet?"

"Injured the woman from Ten. She's not dead yet, but it's only a matter of time."

"Oooh, bravo," he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I've done three myself, and managed to fight off the Careers. I think it's about time I made that four, don't you? Unless you think that you injuring some girly means I should just give up in fear now?"

"Maybe you should." He swings the club one more time at his side and across his body before he lunges at Rafe.

They are a match for each other in speed and strength, but Ash has the advantage of having a longer weapon. Rafe is going to have to get much closer to be able to do any damage, and with the spiked club swinging purposefully in front of Ash, that won't prove to be easy. Rafe side steps and ducks and weaves out of the way of those lethal looking spikes, getting cockier each time. "Is that all you've got?" he taunts.

His moment of arrogance costs him. Ash swings the club low, catching Rafe in the shin, and knocking him off his feet. One of the spikes has cut him quite deeply but he hasn't given up. As Ash steps closer to finish him off, Rafe uses his cleaver to send an almighty blow to just above his ankle. He practically severs Ash's entire foot from his leg, sending him toppling to the floor, his eyes wide from shock and fear. I look at the now useless appendage, hanging on by just a few sinewy tendons and feel a phantom sympathy pain in my own missing limb which very nearly causes me to lose my balance.

There is no way Ash will be able to survive an injury like this. Rafe knows this too. Despite his own injury, he quickly crawls to Ash's side, raises the cleaver high above his head and brigs it down hard and fast over Ash's neck. I close my eyes before the moment of impact, and turn my face away from the screens, hearing the cannon blast just a second later. I open my eyes and am about to look back but Katniss hisses, "Don't look." I have seen plenty of death over the years, but am still grateful to Katniss for at least trying to protect me from the tribute I fear the most.

A familiar voice invades my thoughts. "Well that was unnecessarily graphic. Have you got some kind of vendetta against us or something?" Johanna Mason again. "Three of our tributes taken out by three of yours. What, don't you like us or something?"

"Do you want something, Mason?" Katniss snaps.

"Alright," she says sounding exasperated and holding her hands up in front of her in a gesture of peace. "Just trying to be friendly."

Almost as soon as she stalks away we are inundated with requests to help Rafe. He is unable to put much weight on his own leg and if it isn't treated soon he'll probably end up with septicaemia if he doesn't bleed out. The medicine his leg requires is bound to be expensive and there are not many patrons who would be able to afford it alone. I know of one who certainly could but I couldn't be in any way less inclined to ask her for help just for Rafe. But there are enough individuals offering to help him that resources could be pooled in order to send him what he needs.

I find the thought thoroughly galling. How can they possibly expect me to send life giving medicine to the boy who has made it apparent from day one that he's going after my dad? I try to steer the conversation to him instead, and see if they would care to sponsor one of our other tributes; even Ava as now they are working together then at least dad may see the benefit of any gifts they choose to send. My attempts are met with stares as if I had spontaneously sprouted an extra head. No, they make sure that it is quite clear that the money they donate is to be used for Rafe's medicine and for that purpose alone.

If only we hadn't sent Haymitch away... He could have dealt with this with the detachment that comes from twenty five years of being involved in the Capitol's games. Seeing how much this pains me, Katniss offers to deal with the sponsors. "But you'll have to show me what to do," she finishes.

Unlike with Briar who can afford to pay for individual gifts single-handedly, these sponsors will donate money into a 'pool' until we have enough to afford Rafe's medicine. Part of me wonders what would happen if that money 'accidentally' was spent elsewhere. I wouldn't take the risk. The sponsors would complain and I daresay the ground under dad's feet would immediately turn to quicksand as punishment to me.

I lead Katniss to the elevators that descend to the main games room, and my breathing becomes more laboured. I can't be any part of this. "Just….head to the lowest level. They'll ask you what you want and who it is for."

"You're not coming with me?" she asks.

"I…I can't," I reply.

Katniss nods her understanding. She kisses my lips so softly before taking the elevator down. I wander almost blindly back to the bar, returning to our usual spot and maintaining a vigil of the screens. I stare at dad's screen hungrily. They aren't doing much other than gathering more nuts, berries and roots, but I don't want to miss a second.

Before long Katniss returns to my side. She sits silently beside me and wordlessly takes my hand. I know what this means; any second now Rafe will be receiving the parachute containing the medicine he desperately requires. Even though I am prepared I still feel the bottom drop out of my stomach as I watch the silver parachute drop down. Rafe gleefully slathers his wounded leg in the thick ointment and leans back against a tree while he waits for it to take effect.

I cannot watch him for long. With every passing moment his chances of winning become greater and he knows it. The crowd love him. What chance does my dad possibly have against him?

The cannon fires again and the sound jolts me back to reality. I snap back to dad's screen and immediately feel myself sag with relief as he is still ok. The girl from One has killed the girl tribute from Four with well-aimed throwing knives.

At the moment of the tribute from Four's death, a movement in the peripherals of my visions catches my eye. Finnick stands up and storms out of the room, looking thoroughly annoyed. This surprises me somewhat, as I thought he had been mentoring long enough to not be too bothered by the deaths of his tributes. Maybe I was wrong about him?

Ava has been busy setting a few defensive snares up near their group. They are still oblivious to the fact that the arena's traps will not be going off like clockwork anymore, and from their discussions it is apparent that they have decided to wait a few hours in one location before moving on to the next area, in order to try and stay ahead of any of the arena's dangers. I curse myself again for missing the vital piece of information off; they are as safe where they are as anywhere else, but moving a group through the jungle, they could easily be exposed.

As I watch Ava weave the vines into her traps I am distracted by a tap on my shoulder. An Avox stands before me, a letter in her hand. She delivers this and walks away from me. I look down at the envelope as if it is a bomb that could go off at any moment; the handwriting on the front is immediately recognisable as Briar's. With shaking hands I prise the letter out and read.

'_It is time for you to pay me. Do not keep me waiting. You will find my hovercar outside.'_

Everything seems to stop as I stare at those words. Out of fear for my father I had promised her anything and now that she was claiming on that promise I feel terrified for what I have let myself in for.

Katniss sees the worry in me. I fold the letter up and pocket it before she can read it. "Again?" she asks, shaking her head. "She's obsessed."

"I have to go," I say, and I am ashamed to hear the fear in my own voice.

As I stand up she grabs hold of me. "Listen to me," she says, her voice strong. "This doesn't mean anything. You're still you. You're still my Peeta. Don't forget that."

I swallow my nerves. "Thank you," I whisper to her before I begin to make my way towards whatever fresh hell Briar has in store for me today.

My legs feel like lead weights have been tied to them, but I force myself ever onwards. As I reach the front doors to the training centre I see the waiting hovercar and part of me considers turning back, running away, hiding, pretending none of this is happening. What good would come of that, though?

The car's doors open as I approach them, and I step inside. The doors shut immediately behind me and I stumble slightly as the doors take off.

Briar is sat on the sofa sipping at her usual champagne. She looks deadly serious and makes no acknowledgement of my presence. I look around the room, unsure of what I should do. Instead of the usual Peacekeeper and Avox, today there are two armed Peacekeepers. My fear mounts. She clearly expects me to protest vehemently against her request.

I step further in to the room and as I do the bedroom door opens, and Finnick comes striding out, carrying more champagne. As soon as he sees me he stops mid-stride. "Miss B, what's he doing here? I told you before. You can't have both of us at once legally."

"I don't like being denied what I want, Finnick," she speaks up, and her voice is laced with venom.

"I'm sorry, Miss B, I can't change the law."

"The law needn't ever find out." She nodded to one of the Peacekeepers who stepped forward and handed her an envelope. "They work for me directly, so I don't think anything said in here is in any danger of being passed to the authorities. Peeta, you aren't going to be difficult are you sweetie? You already promised me anything I wanted, and you know precisely what is at stake."

I can't speak. My eyes focus on the floor as I desperately try and think of a way out of this.

"What did you promise her, Peeta?" says Finnick. "What, exactly?"

"Anything," I confirm, still unable to look at them.

"Then you're an absolute fucking moron," he snaps at me before returning his attention to Briar. "But you can't hold me to what this idiot kid promised."

"I thought you may prove to be difficult," she says, holding out the envelope towards Finnick. He places the bottle of champagne he is still carrying on the coffee table and snatches the envelope from her grasp, tearing it open. All the colour immediately drains from his face.

"What is this?" he asks, and all the confidence has gone from his voice. He appears to be holding a series of photographs, and he shakes as he flicks through them. "Where is she?" he asks, his voice quiet and tremulous.

"She's here in the Capitol. Behave yourself and she will cease to be harmed. Misbehave… and she will cease to be."

He collapses on the sofa and I catch a glimpse of the photographs he had been looking at. They all appear to be of the same woman in various states of distress; her eyes bruised, her lips swollen and bloody. He swallows with difficulty. "Where do you want us?" he says, his voice toneless and expressionless.

Briar points to the bedroom and Finnick stands and grabs hold of me with a strength even I can't match, frog marching me towards the bedroom. He pushes me forward roughly and I collapse on the bed. I try to spin around and as I do his hand clamps over my mouth. I feel a pill drop into my mouth and Finnick says in a commanding tone, "Swallow it." I struggle and refuse him but he pins me in place. "Swallow it," he says again. "You're a fucking idiot but I don't want to hurt you. This will help to take the edge off. Swallow it."

At that moment Briar appears in the doorway. I notice she has a camera set ready to film whatever is about to happen. "Undress," she says. Finnick does as he told immediately and gives me a pointed look. I attempt to dry swallow the pill in my mouth, feeling it scrape the inside of my oesophagus as it goes down, and begin to remove my clothes. The anticipation is worse than I have ever felt it before and I am certain Briar is getting more and more impatient with me. When at last we are both naked and I feel more exposed than I have felt in my whole life she presses something on the camera and sits beside it. "Perform for me."

I don't know what she expects me to do. I hug my arms across my chest and try to speak, to beg her to let me go but my mouth is so incredibly dry and my voice catches. Finnick pushes me back on to the bed and lies down next to me. "She wants a show," he whispers in my ear. "Fuck this up and I swear I'll make your life hell myself."

His hand runs down my body, pausing over my hip where I feel his thumb making small circles. He grabs a hold of me and rolls me towards him and at the same time thrusts his tongue deep inside my mouth. I have no choice but to comply. I place my hands on his back and force myself to respond to his kiss, but it's too much, his hands are too rough and strong, his tongue too forceful….

He pulls away for a moment and pulls my earlobe into his mouth, taking the opportunity to whisper to me again. "Tell me when you're feeling it. It won't take long."

Feeling what? What exactly did he give me?

His hand runs down the back of my spine and I shudder from the sensation. He keeps going lower and hitches my leg up and over his waist, pausing only briefly to raise an eyebrow at the sensation of my cold prosthetic against his skin. He pushes his body in to mine and my breath catches as I feel his erection press in to my body. He is too big, and the fear and anxiety wells up inside me and I want to scream and I want to cry at the injustice of the world but his mouth covers mine again, smothering any sound.

His kiss is gentler this time, his hand coming back up to cradle the back of my head. Instead of dominating, his tongue softly probes my own and without realising what I'm doing I allow him to explore my mouth, returning the kiss. My heart beats a little faster and my breath quickens, and I feel a tingling rush on my skin starting from the point where Finnick's hands lay upon me.

As soon as I become aware of these sensations I pull away, not wanting to lose myself. Finnick looks straight into my eyes for a brief moment then brings his attention back to my ear. "It's starting, right?"

I nod my head. "I think so," I breathe, and as I do Finnick leans over me and kisses me again, and this time I return the kiss straight away. I don't know why I am doing it, and hear my own voice in my head screaming at me, asking me what I'm doing. '_Wake up,'_ says this voice again and again. But I ignore it and continue.

Finnick pulls away from me and I whine a little at the lack of contact. He unhooks my leg from his waist and tells me to sit up on the edge of the bed. I do as he asks without question. The anxiety I was feeling earlier has transformed into nervous excitement, and I push the sensible, sober voice further from my mind. I don't understand why I was so apprehensive before. Every time Finnick touches me it sends a jolt of pleasurable ecstasy across my skin in a way I have never felt before.

Finnick kneels in front of me, and my mouth becomes dry as I understand his intentions. My cock is straining impossibly upwards and my breath shortens as he lowers himself down towards me. '_Katniss should be the first one to do this,' _ says the sober voice but I can't listen to it. My body wants this more than anything. His tongue flicks lightly over me before he grasps me in one hand and takes me deep in his mouth.

I have never felt anything like this; his hand pumps and twists what won't fit in his mouth and I find that I can't stop myself lifting my hips to thrust further and deeper in to his hot, wet mouth. '_Fucking wake up!' _screams the sober voice, but my body refuses to listen and I push his head down on to me even further, getting closer and closer to orgasm.

Suddenly Finnick releases his hold on me, and I whimper in frustration from the denied release.

"Not yet," he says. "I think you need to earn it."

I hear a slight rustling noise from the corner of the room. Briar watching and smirking at us. Why is she here in our room? _'Peeta, please, this isn't you. Look at her. Look at what she's making you do. Wake up. Please…'_

"Lie down on your stomach," instructs Finnick. "Face towards the camera."

Camera? I look around and see a camera next to Briar. Why is she here in our room? _'Peeta, you have to sober up. Come on.'_

I do precisely as Finnick asks me. My body is on fire and I will do anything he wants if it means he'll go down on me again. I feel his weight behind me and my breath quickens. I turn around and look at him; he is sitting up over me looking down at me. His erect cock is in his hand and he is running something wet and slippery over it. "Try to relax," he says to me.

'_No. No no no no no no no no, you don't want this Peeta, fuck no you don't want this, please wake up, please._'

I rest my head back down on the bed as Finnick lies down on top of me. I feel his erection press into me as his finger traces down the side of my face and he plants gentle kisses along my neck. He begins to push further in to me and I feel a flash of sharp pain. Why is he hurting me? Why would Finnick ever do anything that would hurt me? He doesn't stop and pushes further and further and the pain increases and I cry out for him to stop and I bury my face in to the sheets and grip them tightly with my fists.

"Hold his head up. Make him look at the camera," screams a harsh voice, and I feel Finnick's hands ball in to my hair and yank my head upwards and hold it there. He's fucking me harder and harder and I desperately want him to stop but he won't, I'm begging him to stop, he's hurting me but no matter how much I beg he won't stop. "Make him shut up," says the harsh voice, and I feel Finnick's hand clamp down across my mouth. I keep begging him to stop even though I can't get my words out through Finnick's hand and after a while his body spasms and he collapses on top of me.

"Finish him off," says the harsh voice, and I feel Finnick pull out of me. He turns me around and takes me in his hand, gently rubbing his thumb over the head, making me go hard again. He bends down and takes me in his mouth once more. He flicks his tongue up and down the shaft and then takes as much of me in his mouth as he can. His tongue works over me furiously until I feel pressure building up inside. _'Don't do this. Don't let this happen. Don't lose control.'_ I can't stop the pressure and I don't want to. My hips thrust forward propelling me deep in to Finnick's mouth as my orgasm washes over me and I come hard. He swallows as much as he can and spits out what he can't.

He sits up in front of me and cups my face in his hands, kissing me deeply. I can taste myself in his mouth.

"I think that's enough for now," says the harsh voice. "Peeta, get yourself ready. I'll be needing you a little longer."

"No," says Finnick. "He won't be able to. Take me."

Briar. I remember, the voice belongs to Briar. I focus on her and she seems to be considering something. "Fine," she says. "Peeta, wait outside."

I stand up, grab my clothes, stumble out of the door and collapse on the sofa. The sober voice in my head is becoming louder and clearer and as it is I begin to feel more and more empty and abused. The sounds coming from the bedroom soon become more and more intense. Before I know it, the effects of the pill Finnick forced upon me have worn off and all I can feel is the shame of what has just happened.

Eventually Briar steps from the bedroom, followed by Finnick a few minutes later. "Where is she?"

"She'll be returned to you later tonight"

The hovercar begins to descend and as soon as the hovercar hits the ground he storms away. I also leave without a backward glance and as the hover car takes off again I hear Finnick calling me. I can't look him in the eyes after everything, and it seems that he has the same hang ups with me. "She won't get away with this," he says.

"Sure," I say hollowly.

"She won't. She can't do this. Everything about this illegal. Kidnap. Her forcing us. You being underage. You being with her at all. It's all illegal."

"And you said she was powerful enough to do what she wanted."

"Yeah, well, you don't get to be in her position without making a few enemies." He pulls out a small disk from his pocket. "And now I have proof of what she's done. I think a few people may well be interested in this."

A tiny flame of hope ignites in my chest. Can we really do this safely? "You think we can stop her?"

"Leave it with me," says Finnick. "Once I know that….someone….is safe, I know exactly where to take this."

Finnick tucks the disc back inside his pocket and walks back inside the training centre. I pray with all my might that Finnick knows what he's doing.

* * *

**A/N - There you go! The beginning of the end of Briar! Please leave a review and yeah, please also check out my other new fic Sabotaged Heart :) Thanks all!**


	22. Chapter 22

The walk back to the main bar takes an age. How can I possibly tell Katniss what has happened? I still can't believe it myself. My body aches and burns, a feeling that is echoed in the shame in my heart.

I don't know what Finnick will do with that footage, but he seemed deadly serious about using it to take down Briar. I hope whoever was in the photographs is safe, and inwardly thank her for her pain; if it wasn't for her being threatened Finnick would not be now doing everything in his power to stop her.

On my way back I bump in to Haymitch, awake again at last and clearly suffering the effects of a terrible hangover.

"Who's still alive then?" he asks. I shrug in response. "You don't know?"

"They all were a couple of hours ago," I reply, my tone flat and deadened.

"What have you been doing for a couple of hours?"

I open my mouth but I feel my voice catching in my throat and I can't answer. The memories are too close; even now I keep feeling an occasional strange rushing sensation as the last of the drugs Finnick forced upon me leave my system. Haymitch sees the pain and emotion in my face and he clearly understands where I've been, even if he doesn't know the extent of what happened. He pulls me into a hug, and I don't care that I'm overcome with the stench of old alcohol on his breath, or the powerful stink of the white liquor sweating out of his pores. I begin to shake and tremble in his arms. "I want to go home," I say, my tremulous voice muffled by his shoulder.

"It won't be long," he says. "Whatever happens."

"I can't do this. I can't cope." I'm ashamed by how much I sound like a child, and wish it was dad holding and comforting me.

"You're doing good, kid. Stay strong." He knows his words are hollow and empty, but he pulls me even closer as my tears pour out from me. It feels cathartic, and now that I have started I don't think I can stop.

I don't know how long we are stood together. I can hear Capitol citizens walking past us every now and again, making comments about 'inappropriate behaviour,' or 'the end of the age of decorum,' but I don't care about them; I've needed this release for so long…

Eventually my breathing begins to regulate. I'm still shaking, but I feel drained, as if I have nothing left inside to give. I slowly pull away from Haymitch's shoulder, a little disgusted by the glistening patch of saliva I've left on his clothes. "Sorry," I mumble.

"Don't you dare ever apologise for what they've done to you," he says firmly.

"Sorry," I mumble again.

"Don't apologise to me either." He takes a deep breath and slowly exhales, before slapping his hands on either side of my shoulders. "Come on, kid. Let's get you cleaned up. You don't want those bloodsuckers seeing you like this."

"You're a mess too," I point out.

"Yeah, but they expect it of me. If I didn't look like shit they'd think something was wrong."

His rooms are closest, and he walks me towards them, helping me wash my face and calm down once we are inside. Once he is satisfied with my appearance we make the walk back to the bar together. As we approach it we can hear the patrons first. The excited noise from the bar, the raised voices and cheering doesn't bode at all well. Something has caused their blood to start pumping, and I jog the remainder of the distance.

It is with relief I see the two separate fights taking place on screen. At one end of the arena some of the remaining careers, the boy and girl from One are fighting with the boy and girl from Eleven, and it is pretty clear that neither the girl or boy from District Eleven are going to come out on top. At almost the opposite end the two adults from Four are in individual battles with the men from One and Three. Dad, Yohan and Ava are still safe, oblivious to the carnage taking place around them.

The first battle is over in minutes. The cannon fires twice and District Eleven are out of the Seventy Fifth Hunger Games. But the fighting hasn't finished. No sooner has the boy from Eleven fallen than the boy from District One turns on his District Partner. She is instantly on guard, holding her knife in a defensive position against him. "What the hell are you doing?" she screams.

"This can't last forever," he replies.

I check the other fights. The woman from Four has the man from Three outclassed in every way. She's younger, stronger, faster and better armed. Her harpoon pierces the man through the neck and she turns to help her District Partner just as the man from One draws a knife across his throat. She barely has time to pick up her harpoon before the same knife lodges itself in her chest and she falls to the floor.

At the other end of the arena the girl and boy from One are still in a stand off with each other. Their eyes burn with mistrust, knowing that one false move will result in death. After what seems an age they slowly lower their weapons; their tentative and temporary alliance still holds, for now at least.

Four deaths in as many minutes. At least the blood thirsty gamemakers should hold off setting any traps for a while.

Haymitch lets out a low whistle. "The rest of District Four wiped out in minutes. Shame none of our guys were involved in that, we could have had the sponsors eating out of our hands."

His flippant remark burns me, reminding me of what I have to become in order to survive life in the Capitol and despite the comfort he has recently offered me I turn away from him. All of District Four gone… I look around the bar for any sign of Finnick and how he feels about this, but he still hasn't returned. Will he even care? I doubt it. The distress on his face at the sight of those photographs has pushed all other cares and worries from him. In fact he'll probably be grateful that he now has no other demands on his time.

Katniss is doing her best to shmooze up to some of the sponsors in the bar. I watch her from a distance for a while. She talks to a few citizens who clearly show no interest in helping her, and as they turn away from her she pulls a disgusted face at them behind their back. The sight forces a strange feeling out of me; I begin to giggle at the sight of her, at her clear disdain for everything Capitol and related to these brutal games. She catches my eye across the room, sees my amusement at her behaviour and flashes me a wink and a smile, which I can't help but return.

It is pretty apparent that she isn't doing a great job speaking to the Capitol sponsors and starts to duck and weave through the crowd back towards me. As soon as she is close enough I throw my arms out and wrap her up in them, pulling her slender frame against me. "I've been so worried," she said. "You were gone ages."

"I'm sorry," I reply gently, still apologising even though Haymitch told me not to.

She places her hands either side of my face and pulls me towards her, her soft and sweet kisses pushing everything else from my mind. "Don't be," she says. "Are you ok?"

It's too soon to relive it. I shake my head slightly, and cannot make eye contact with her. She places her palm upon my chest and rests her face next to it. "You will be," she says softly. "You will be." I rest my chin on the top of her head, enveloping her even closer, and I pray that she is right.

* * *

Two days pass by without incident, and the Capitol citizens are becoming tetchy as a result. After a completely uneventful morning and afternoon, with none of the tributes even passing close to each other, the gamemakers start setting off traps. The woman from District Two is the first unlucky one to be killed by the arena, when a swarm of mechanical beetles descends upon her. They seemed to be hiding within the trees, pouring out of knots and holes, until they were completely surrounding her. They attack her slowly but surely, tearing away strips of flesh that cause her unimaginable pain, but without causing enough injury to finish her quickly. It takes several minutes of listening to her screams as she desperately tries to push them away from her until she finally begins to quiet. Her lack of screams seems to encourage them, and they attack even more furiously. When the cannon fires the beetles vanish back in to the trees and all that is left of the woman from Two is a bloodied skeleton with a few tiny strips of flesh clinging to the bones.

Briar has returned to hanging around the bar, although as yet she has not made any kind of contact with me. I still have not seen Finnick since, and hope that whatever he is doing comes to fruition soon. Surely it won't take Briar long to notice the missing data disc, and to retaliate? Or perhaps she herself is actually concerned about its whereabouts, and doesn't want to provoke either Finnick or myself in to revealing her illegal activities?

She sees me watching her and affixes me with a hard, ice cold stare that sends shivers down my spine. I watch as she leans over to her friend, Damiana Ivory, the sister of one of the gamemakers, and she whispers something to her. Damiana shrugs and clicks her fingers, and from nowhere an Avox appears by her side. Damiana scribbles a note on a piece of paper, hands it to the Avox who vanishes as quickly as she had appeared. Briar then turns back to me and smiles, a cold smile full of cruel humour.

Nausea bubbles up inside me and I snap my head away from her. The whole exchange felt incredibly sinister and I don't want her to see the worry that must be clearly etched on my face. Katniss is currently sleeping and without her here for support I feel unbelievably exposed with Briar here.

A movement on screen catches my eye. Dad, Yohan and Ava had been sat together, splitting a meagre meal of berries, roots and leaves when suddenly something causes all three to snap their heads upwards. I move closer to the screen, and I want to reach through and pull dad to safety. Panic wells up and I turn to Briar. She raises her glass to me in a toast, smiling that cold smile once more. I return my attention to the screens, hardly daring to breathe.

A scream causes all three tributes to turn in unison. "That sounded close," dad says, "Someone must be near us. We should move."

He and Yohan quickly gather the remainder of their meal and start to move away from the sound of the scream. Ava stays rooted to the spot. "We have to go," says Yohan desperately.

But Ava is wide eyed and terrified. Whoever screamed before does so again, and Ava cries out, "Lena!" and begins to run in the direction of the screaming.

"Ava, no!" calls my dad and he begins to follow her, but stops solidly in his tracks. I see the look of fear on his face, and it must be reflected in the fear and confusion on my own, as I hear my own voice cry out, "Dad, help me!" He stumbles slightly and looks around, and as he does so my voice seems to issue from the trees again. "Peet!" cries my dad, anguish distorting his features. "Peet, where are you?"

He stumbles blindly further and further into the trees, trying to find me. "Dad, stop," I whisper, knowing full well he won't me. "Please dad, it's not real. It's not real."

The screams are getting louder and louder; they seem to be completely surrounding the tributes. Yohan has curled up on the ground and is crying for his parents, but Ava is still running with purpose, further and further into the trees, away from the shoreline, all the while calling for this 'Lena.'

On the screens it shows a close-up of what is causing the voices. A jabberjay, a Capitol mutt, physically harmless but emotionally crippling is causing the pain that the three tributes are currently suffering. There are no other tributes in their vicinity, so they aren't in danger of running in to any potential enemies, but this will leave them emotionally scarred, more likely to make mistakes when they do finally run in to other fighters.

Dad looks up as the screams become unbearable, and he sees what we have just been shown. Understanding floods over him and he runs back towards Yohan, who is curled into himself, rocking slightly and crying. "It's ok," he says, scooping the small child up into his arms and holding him there. "It's ok. Whoever you can hear, it isn't real. They're just trying to upset us. I promise. They're safe, ok? They're safe." I start to breathe again; he is safe if they can just ride this hell out.

Together dad and Yohan try to calmly walk away from the sector. Dad must think they had unwittingly stayed too long in one place, thinking the traps are still being set off like clockwork. He keeps the shoreline on his left hand side, and starts to lead the young boy away, knowing that once they escape the sector the voices will stop. It is a hugely unpleasant shock to see that they cannot escape. A forcefield of some kind prevents them from leaving. Both dad and Yohan drop to the floor, and dad encourages Yohan to block his ears, to ignore the hellish screams as best as possible.

It takes a full hour for the assault on their ears and hearts to come to a stop. Almost as soon as it started it is over. Dad crawls towards where the forcefield had previously prevented escape and reaches out. Where there was previously solid air there is now nothing. "It's over," he breathes, bending down to encourage Yohan back to his feet. "It's over." He looks around, trying to find any clue to the whereabouts of the third member of their party.

Ava has separated so far from the group, it is unlikely she will find them again. Despite the screams abruptly ending, she is still stumbling further and further away, tears streaming down her face. "Lena!" she cries. "LENA! LE-"

Her scream is cut short. A crackle of blue electricity and she is thrown ten feet backwards. A few small wisps of smoke rise up from her chest. Her eyes are still open but clearly unseeing. The cannon blast moments later confirms this. I watch her body until the hovercraft appears and takes her away, and impatiently wipe away the tears that threaten to fall. She died believing someone close to her was being tormented. The Capitol didn't just kill her. They destroyed her.

I look back at Briar, who looks slightly disappointed at the turn of events. Her eyes flick up to meet mine. They are narrowed in hate and I understand. She knows one of us has taken the data disc. She is trying to teach us a lesson, to bring us down before we can do the same to her. I have to find Finnick now. Whatever he is planning, it can no longer wait.

* * *

**A/N – Thank you for your patience with waiting for this chapter, it's been really hard to write such dark themes when a) I'm still buzzing with joy from my wedding day and b) we're finally having a summer here in England after waiting for about seven years! I'm sorry it's quite short compared to the last two chapters, but it is a kind of 'interlinker' (I love making words up) to what happens next :) **


	23. Chapter 23

How can the most popular and wanted man in Panem be so hard to find? It feels as if no one has seen hide nor hair of Finnick for days. In a panic I race through corridors and hallways in parts of the training centre I have never been to, I head outside to the botanical gardens, I head up to the roof. Nothing.

All the while my mind is on my father, and the heightened danger he is now in. What if Briar is sending messages even now to the Gamemakers to set off more of the traps? Will he be so lucky as to escape again? What does Briar think would hurt me more? Witnessing his death first-hand, or hearing about it later? If the former am I better off staying away? But if the latter I need to be as quick as possible.

I am just about to give up my search when I spy a familiar looking figure. A Capitol citizen, with frizzy turquoise hair, a ridiculous feather fascinator perched precariously on top. I recognize her as the District Four rep. What was her name? Treya? Troya? Something similar. If anyone in this damn place knows where I can find him, it's sure to be her. I pick my pace up, running towards her, slowing to a jog for the last few steps.

"Hey," I call out, slightly breathless, to catch her attention.

She looks up at me, a little confusion in her eyes but remains polite. "Good day," she greets.

"Ummm, I need to find Finnick."

Her confusion becomes even more pronounced. "Any messages for him you can give to me," she says, reminding me of the Capitol bureaucrat back home in Twelve that wouldn't allow me in to see dad.

I take a deep steadying breath. "Not this one. I just need to know where to find him. Please."

Something in my tone must convince her because after a moment her haughty demeanour softens. "Follow me."

She leads me through the labyrinth of stairs and corridors, eventually stopping outside an unmarked door. She knocks rapidly several times then stands back to wait. After a moment's wait the door opens to reveal Finnick, a look of concern plastered all over his handsome features. "What is it?"

She stands back to reveal me. "Finnick, dear, you have a visitor."

He glances up and down the corridor then grabs hold of the top of my arm and drags me roughly inside. As the door slams shut behind me I hear his District rep's little strangled and indignant cry resonating in the now empty corridor.

"What are you doing here?" he demands.

"I need to know what's going on. She knows, Finnick. She knows that disc is missing and she's trying to kill dad to punish me. You said you'd help…" I finish, my voice trailing off.

A tinkling sound of laughter distracts us both and I realise that we are not alone. Next to the open window, laying back in a wicker sun lounger, is a pretty girl with auburn her. She looks like the girl in the photographs who had been beaten black and blue, the girl whose kidnapping caused Finnick to decide to help me. She is on her back, her bare feet in the air, wiggling her toes in the shaft of sunlight. She has clearly received Capitol medical attention, as the evidence of her abuse is minimal. She stops laughing abruptly when she sees me; she sits up straight in the lounger and inhales sharply, panic evident in every muscle of her body.

"Annie, baby, it's ok," says Finnick, striding over to her and kneeling in front of her, clutching her trembling hands in his own. "He won't hurt you. It's ok."

Annie…. Something about her is so familiar….And then it hits me. This girl is another victor, the girl who won through sheer luck and circumstance rather than bloodlust. She hadn't proven to be popular and had slipped off the radar since her Victory Tour. But Finnick appears to love her. I rack my brain for her name as I watch him tenderly stroke the side of her face, when it comes back to me. "Annie Cresta?"

Her eyes widen even further in fear and panic. "He doesn't know me!" she whimpers over and over again. "He doesn't know me!"

Finnick flashes me an angry glare as I stutter, "I-I'm sorry." Maybe winning didn't do her any favours either.

Finnick wraps her in his arms and whispers something to her, and as he does she slowly begins to relax again. He kisses her forehead, whispers something else then stands and comes back to me. "Look, I'm sorry about your old man, but it's out of my hands. I've done everything I can. We'll just have to wait and see what happens."

"What have you done?" I ask. If I just had some kind of inkling as to what was happening, then maybe I could relax, even just slightly.

He sighs and gestures for me to sit, then checks on Annie one more time. Realising that she is lost in her own world again, Finnick takes a seat opposite me and begins to talk. "One of my…clients… happens to be Snow's cousin. She and Briar were business partners once upon a time, although after a while it became pretty apparent that they would be unable to continue working together. They disagreed on pretty much every decision and Briar wanted her out. But instead of coming to a mutual agreement Briar started faking evidence of money losses, bad investments and embezzlement. She was ousted by the shareholders, and it was only her family connection to Snow that kept her out of prison. In retaliation she tried to get Snow to have Briar arrested for faking evidence, but it was so well done, and she had covered her trails so perfectly that it became one person's word against another and in the end the case was dropped. She's always wanted revenge against Briar, and I delivered the disc to her yesterday morning. What happens next is up to her."

I let out a shaky breath. This all seems promising but until I see any of the fruits of it I'll be unable to relax. "Thank you for trying, at least."

"I didn't do it for you, Peeta."

"I know. But thank you anyway."

Finnick throws a glance over at Annie before returning his attention to me. "I meant what I said before. You don't deserve this but if you're going to survive you've got a lot to learn. Try not to get on the wrong side of anyone else that dangerous, ok? And in the meantime, keep an eye out for yourself. And anyone you care about."

My breath catches in my throat. "You don't think… Katniss…?"

Finnick shrugs and lowers his voice. "I don't know. But she got to Annie. Hopefully your popularity will work in your favour. But if I was you, I wouldn't want to let her out of my sight."

I stand up as the implications of what he is saying settle over me. "I have to go," I say, panic clouding the edge of my voice.

He nods his understanding and returns to Annie as I throw open the door to his rooms and tear down the corridor as fast as I can. My feet carry me on automatic pilot, renegotiating the serpentine corridors and stairwells until I find myself back in familiar territory. Standing outside Katniss' room, my heart pounding uncomfortably in my throat, I beat a loud tattoo against the door. No answer. In a blind panic I try again, banging hard against the wood and metal barrier separating us, calling her name, until at long last she opens the door, a bleary look of confusion on her face.

"Peeta?"

"Thank god," I say, as I fling my arms around her.

"Oh no, Peeta… Is he…? Oh, Peeta…." She says as she returns the ferocity of my embrace. She clearly thinks something has happened to dad.

"No, he's ok. Or at least he was. I just needed to know that you…"

"Peeta, I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?"

I release her just enough to look in to her eyes. I'm not sure how much to tell her. "I… I upset her, Katniss, and I think she's trying to get to me."

"Briar?" she hisses, spitting the name out as if it was poisonous. I nod confirmation. "She can't touch me, Peeta."

Do I tell her about Annie, bloodied and bruised just so she could have her way with Finnick? In the end I decide not to alarm her. "Ok," I tell her, drawing her close to me again, "But I'd prefer it if we stay by each other's sides from now on, ok?"

"Ok," she says quietly, relaxing in to my arms.

I press my lips to the top of her head when a hellish realisation floods through me. Katniss doesn't yet know about Ava. "There's something else," I say, and Katniss can clearly tell something is wrong from the tone of my voice as she tenses suddenly. I find my throat constricting as I struggle to say her name. "A-Ava. She's g-gone."

Instantly her body begins to tremble in my embrace. "Who did it?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

"The arena," I answer her. "It was…" I want to tell her it was quick but I can't bring myself to. While her actual death was over in a moment, and must have been relatively painless, those words don't begin to describe the emotional hell she must have experienced beforehand.

Katniss pushes me away and turns back into her room, reaching for the remote to turn on the television. I linger on the threshold for a moment unsure of whether to follow her. My mind is made up as soon as I see the look of horror on her face. Quickly joining her by her side I can see that the television is showing recaps of the recent deaths. I didn't want her to see the agony, the personal torment that Ava went through in those hellish minutes prior to hitting the electrified barrier but there it is, on display to the whole nation. I tentatively place my arm around Katniss' waist and she turns in to me, her body racked with sobs.

As I watch the television cuts back to a live feed. Two men are fighting, the ones from District One and District Three. They are a tangle of bloodied limbs as they roll around through the jungle, kicking, biting, punching…. Neither seems to be carrying a weapon at the moment, although a lethal looking blade lies on the grass several feet away from them. Despite District One's obvious advantage, the man from Three still seems to be holding his own, landing as many blows as he is receiving. But neither man will be able to keep up such an onslaught for long. Sure enough before long the man from One has Three pinned down. But Three simultaneously brings his knee up sharply in to the other man's groin while jerking his head upwards, crashing in to One's nose, which immediately begins to pour blood.

One rolls off to the side, his momentary distraction becoming his ultimate downfall. Three scrambles to his feet and brings his foot down hard on the side of One's head. His eyes roll back into his head but he is still alive. Disoriented, lost, but for now still alive. Three rectifies this soon enough. Within moments he has found the discarded blade and brings it hard down in to One's chest. Once safe Three collapses on the ground, exhausted and shaking from near defeat.

"Look," Katniss whispers, nodding at the screen. An announcement along the bottom of the screen tells us that we are down to the final eight tributes. They will be wanting to interview friends and family. "Will they want to interview you for it, do you think?"

The thought hadn't occurred to me. I try to think back to previous years, when a Victor's child had been reaped and made it to the final eight. Had they been interviewed then? "I don't know," I answer honestly, but I think about how I was treated solely as a mentor and not as family when I tried to see dad back at the Justice Building. "Probably not. Maybe. I don't know."

My heart is racing. The final eight… dad's chances of making it out alive suddenly seem far more real than they have at any other time.

"We should get back," I say to Katniss. With only eight tributes left, the sponsors will be going crazy. If there is any chance we can get extra help to dad I have to be there in the thick of the action.

As we approach the main bar something seems different. The atmosphere feels electrically charged and there is a heightened peacekeeper presence. I see two of them talking to Haymitch, his hands held up in a placatory gesture. His eyes widen as he sees me and the two peacekeepers turn on the spot, marching towards me.

"What's going on?" Katniss whispers to me, gripping my wrists tightly. I swallow the bile that is rising up within me and shake my head slightly. This must surely have something to do with Briar, there can be no other explanation.

The peacekeepers approach and as they do one of them reaches inside his armoured jacket, pulling out a letter. He hands this out towards me which I take with a shaking hand. I am immediately struck by the scent of a cloying, sickly sweet perfume and as I turn the letter over in my hand I spot the wax seal, printed with the image of a rose. My fingers tremble as I open the letter.

_Mr Mellark,_

_Your presence is requested. _

_CS_

I look up at Katniss and I can see the fear in her eyes but I have no idea of what I can say to comfort her. My words sound hollow as I say, "Don't worry. I'll be ok."

"Please accompany us, Mr Mellark, the president does not like to be kept waiting."

I nod shortly. Haymitch has come to join us, apprehension apparent in his entire body. "Don't let her out of your sight," I say to him as I am marched away.

I feel like I did when my name was first pulled out of the Reaping Ball, being marched to my inescapable fate. The peacekeepers remain silent and I doubt they will welcome any attempt at conversation, so I keep my head up and my eyes focused ahead, and try not to betray the fear I feel.

Outside a small hovercar is waiting for us, the Capitol Seal emblazoned on the side, which takes off as soon as we are sat. The peacekeepers stay silent for the entire journey, and my heart soon begins to pound in my ears. Am I being led to my death? Or a fate far worse?

The journey takes no time at all and before I am able to gather my thoughts I am being ushered out of the cab. The Presidential Mansion is before me, and the peacekeepers march me up the vast sweeping marble steps, my feet feeling heavier and more reluctant to travel onwards with every step. By the time I am escorted inside I am dizzy and almost unable to stand.

The peacekeepers lead me to an ornate wooden door. They knock three times and a commanding voice inside calls, "Enter!" I recognise the voice immediately. President Snow. I take several deep calming breaths and push the door open.

I find myself in a plush sitting room with a large, open bay window looking out over a rose garden. The sickly scent that I smelled earlier is ten times more overpowering here and it takes all my effort not to gag. Snow is sat in an armchair by the open window, a table with a tea pot and two cups beside him. "Mr Mellark," he says, and I feel no warmth in his words. "Please sit." He gestures to an empty chair opposite him. I cross the room and take a seat. "Tea?" he asks, indicating the set laid out in front of him.

"No, thank you," I reply, even though my mouth is parched.

"I always find it the height of ill manners that when a superior offers one something, one declines," he says, pouring himself a cup but never looking at me. "Tea?"

What choice do I have? "Yes, thank you, sir," I answer as he pours a second cup.

"Milk? Sugar?"

"Milk, no sugar, thank you."

He pours the drink, and passes me the delicate china cup and saucer. "Thank you," I repeat.

He takes several slow sips from his cup before he begins to speak again. "I daresay you have an inkling as to why I have summoned you here."

Should I play dumb? Or is my best tactic to be honest. My hesitation in answering clearly angers him, as his voice is low and dangerous when he speaks again.

"Come now, Mr Mellark. You are not a stupid man. It took a great deal of cunning to be able to twist the public to get behind tributes from such an outlying District, and even more so to be able to convince my people to allow you both to live. You are here today at my graces, so please, do me the courtesy of answering before I change my mind about your intelligence."

"Yes sir, I have an idea."

"My Victors are valuable commodities to me. If I am not receiving proper recompense I need to know precisely how much I am owed so I might mete out an appropriate punishment. How many dalliances have you had with Miss Baxwall?"

I recall each time with horrifying clarity. "She summoned me four times," I reply.

"And you had sex on each of those four occasions?"

I feel my face burn scarlet. To be having this conversation at all is mortifying. To be having it with the President, who holds my very life in his hands…. "No, sir. The second time she wanted Finnick and myself to…. But he wouldn't. He refused because I'm underage. And then the final time…." I shudder as the memories rush over me.

"Yes, I've seen. It's almost a shame the film can't legally be sold. I know many people would pay an exceptional price for such footage."

A flood of cold washes over me. It's clear Briar is going to be punished somehow, but that Snow is only interested in me as a financial asset. Am I still going to be sold? I force myself to keep breathing, and take several gulps of tea to try and calm myself.

"I think we are done here, Mr Mellark. Congratulations on two of your tributes making it to the final eight. Interviews with the families will take place later today. May the odds be ever in your favour."

"Thank you, sir," I say quietly as I place the cup and saucer back down on the coffee table. Snow takes his cup and turns away from me, staring out the window. It's clear I have been dismissed. I edge my way towards the door, fumbling a little with the handle in my haste to leave. The peacekeepers are still waiting outside, presumably to escort me back. I am certain that the nauseating rushing sensation in the pit of my stomach as we launch in to the air is not caused solely by the sudden movement. The mounting sense of dread at what the future now holds increases with every passing second, leaving me almost unable to move when we finally return to the training centre.

Focus. One thing at a time. Get through the Quell first. Only seven more deaths until it is over. Then let these other games I am trapped in unfold.


	24. Chapter 24

The family interviews are broadcast that night, although they are mostly overshadowed by the footage of the girl from Seven being slowly tormented and finally strangled by the two remaining Careers from One, and by the man from Three, still weakened and exhausted from his fight with the man from One, being hacked down by Cronin.

Rhees and Kern both look pale and haggard in their interview. It strikes me that they must have been in the same position this time last year, only dad would have been by their side as well. And mother too. Or at least I assume she would have been interviewed about me. Perhaps what she said was so disappointing and unworthy of being broadcast that the footage never made it to the light of day. Or maybe she refused to say anything positive about me. I never did ask my family about those interviews.

Either way this year she is conspicuous only by her absence. Rhees and Kern both explain how strong dad is and how similar I am to him, and because of that he has a good chance of coming home. They also mention the wedding and how it would be wrong for dad to not be there. I hope the mention of mine and Katniss' impending nuptials generates enough sympathy with the overly romantic viewers in the Capitol.

I don't remember the last time I felt able to relax; between Briar's threats hanging over me, the insinuations from Snow, and dad's precarious position in the games I feel lucky to still be breathing.

As I predicted, interest from the sponsors has increased tenfold. But not for dad. With Briar no longer sending him gifts his sponsorship has dried up. The Careers have no difficulty in getting sponsorship. Neither, gallingly, does Rafe. The remaining three tributes, including my father, are on their own.

He is still surviving off gathered berries and roots, but both he and Yohan are looking thinner than when they first arrived in the arena. The cookies I sent have long been eaten. I only hope he has enough strength in him to fight when the time comes. By contrast Rafe has been sent a parachute full of bread, broth, dried meat and dried fruits. He gratefully devours half in a single sitting. He must surely know the end is approaching and that he won't be in the arena much longer either way.

When a similar parachute arrives with the Careers it doesn't take long for their alliance to finally be broken. An argument breaks out over who it is for, and the fragile truce that they had held is shattered. They are equals in a fight. He has the edge in strength, but she can best him for speed and agility. Their fight is a flurry of flashing blades, from which only one can emerge the winner. It is a close call, but when the two of them are drawn together, a knife held between them it is his eyes that widen, his mouth that drops open in a surprised 'oh.' It is him that drops to his knees, the knife still lodged in his stomach. She walks away, injured but victorious, grabbing the parachute and feasting on her winnings at last.

The issue of Yohan still hangs over my head. With only three other tributes in the arena, the chances of someone else killing him are becoming smaller and smaller. If it gets down to the two of them I will never see my father again. I doubt the boy will be able to do it; more likely that dad will take himself off quietly somewhere to end it himself. His own personal act of defiance against the Capitol.

That is, of course, if he even makes it that far. I try to avoid Briar's eye as much as possible but I can feel her watchful gaze burning in to me. Since I returned from my meeting with Snow I have been waiting for something, anything, to happen but so far she has remained in her usual spot by the bar, sipping as leisurely as ever on her champagne. I have not allowed Katniss to leave my sight, just in case Finnick's warning proves true. I couldn't bear it if, on top of everything else, she took Katniss from me too.

It is late in the afternoon when everything finally comes to a head. Katniss and I are doing our best to schmooze up to one of the patrons in an attempt to glean sponsorship from them, when she squeals in awe, the feathers on top of her head wobbling dangerously. We turn to see what has caught her attention. President Snow himself has entered the bar, surrounded by an entourage of ten peacekeepers. Finnick stands just behind them. Annie, I notice, is nowhere to be seen.

My breath catches in my throat as my eyes dart towards Briar. She seems just as confused as everyone else at the unexpected appearance of the President; she certainly hasn't yet realised these people are here for her. I watch as Snow leans in towards the peacekeeper at the head of the group and issues some whispered orders. The peacekeeper passes these orders on to his men. Three groups of two head out across the room, with four staying back in formation around the President.

Unsurprisingly two head directly towards Briar. She immediately begins to shout about 'impropriety' and 'false accusations' and as she struggles against the peacekeepers she shoots a look towards me that assures me that if she gets out of this I will personally pay for it. Most of the bar are on their feet looking towards the commotion. Some with disdain, some with intrigue, some with undisguised amusement. And with the distraction caused by Briar very few notice where the other two sets of peacekeepers head. One pair have approached Troya, Finnick's rep. The other pair have approached Effie.

"No," I whisper to myself. I had no idea that taking down Briar would have repercussions on anyone else. I hastily rush towards the president. As I do the peacekeepers in front of him raise their guns warningly. "No," he says in a voice of calm. "It's quite alright. Let the boy speak."

"Please, sir, Effie, Ms Trinkett, she isn't involved in this. Neither is the District Four rep."

"They both accepted money outside of official channels. I'm sure you must appreciate how I cannot allow such an indiscretion to pass unnoticed."

I catch Effie's eye as she is led away; the shock and fear emanating from her is palpable and try to mouth an apology to her as she leaves.

"She only did it once," I say to him desperately, well aware that I must be over stepping some boundaries. "I'm certain she can repay you. Please don't harm her."

"Now, now, Mr Mellark. Whatever makes you think I am in the business of harming my people?"

I swallow heavily, well aware of the irony that we are standing in a room that has been broadcasting footage of at least forty three people having been harmed because of him over the last week. "My apologies," I say, trying to sound as humble as possible. "I merely would like a give a positive character statement on her behalf. And I am sure, given the chance, she would gladly remunerate you."

He pauses before speaking again. "Your statement is duly noted. Suffice it to say that neither Ms Trinkett's nor Ms Roksen will receive a punishment as severe as Ms Baxwall's. Good day to you."

He turns on his heels and is gone from the room, pausing to hand a sealed envelope to Finnick on his way past, and leaving only an odour of artificial roses tainted with a metallic edge. The room is in total silence for the longest time, until whispers of conversation begin to reignite around the room.

I look at Finnick, who looks just as shocked at the loss of his District rep as I feel. "Is that it? She's gone?"

He nods in silence.

"What will they do to her?"

He shrugs his shoulders, his lips pursed tightly together. "Best not to think about it."

"What about Effie? I didn't want her involved in this! Why didn't you say something as well?"

He rolls his eyes and sighs heavily. "We're slaves, Peeta. Haven't you learned that yet? Do you really think they value our opinion? Snow got involved because he was losing financially. Not out of some moral obligation to us." He opens the envelope and reads the contents, his eyes darting back and forth across the paper. "Anyway," he says as he tucks the letter back inside the envelope. "I have obligations elsewhere. How's your old man doing?"

"Hanging in there."

"Well, good luck anyway." He hitches a grin on to his face and strides in to the bar, purchasing two drinks before making his way over to a woman who must be in her mid-fifties, handing her one of the drinks and delicately clinking his glass against hers. He has already settled back in to his easy routine.

I feel a certain amount of the weight that had settled on my shoulders begin to lift. At least with Briar out of the picture, dad should, for now at least, be safe from the arena traps. I feel terrible for Effie, of course I do, and I hold on to the hope that Snow keeps to his word that whatever happens to her won't be as severe as what happens to Briar.

I feel an arm slip across my shoulders and look up in to Katniss' face. "Nothing's happening at the moment," she says. "Do you want to get away for a while?"

I nod and she takes my hand in her own, leading me on the familiar path to our rooms. Only we don't stop. She leads me up further stairs, up on to the garden on the roof of the training centre, where we can be certain of being away from all prying ears and eyes. She wraps her arms around my neck and draws me closer to her. "She's gone," Katniss says quietly in my ear. "She's gone and she won't hurt you again."

My hands splay out across her back as I close my eyes and sink in to her embrace. "I didn't want any of this, Katniss."

"I know."

"What do you think will happen to Effie?"

I feel her tense slightly in my arms. "I don't know, Peeta. But whatever happens, you mustn't blame yourself, ok? This wasn't your fault."

Her words seem hollow, but I try to focus on them. _This wasn't my fault._ I repeat the words again and again to try and comprehend them. "Lie down with me?" I ask, finding a comfortable spot on the grass and putting my arm out to her. She rests her head on my shoulder as above us the sun beats down, the only sounds we are aware of the tinkling of wind chimes as the occasional breeze ruffles them, the melodic chirruping of birds and the gentle buzz of bees.

I feel overcome with exhaustion. As wonderful as these gardens are, as tranquil and peaceful as they may be I can't help but wish once again that we were back home, maybe under the shade of our old apple tree, away from everything to do with the Capitol.

"How much longer will we be here, do you think?" I ask Katniss.

"It won't be much longer," she answers. "Only five left, they'll probably try and push them together soon."

She's right. When we left the remaining five tributes were spread out across the arena. With three brutal recent deaths the viewing public won't be getting too restless for more violence just yet so they probably have a little respite at least, but they are going to want their crowned victor sooner or later.

I feel Katniss' finger reach up to the side of my face, stroking through my hair, pulling a curl round and round her finger. "Feels nice," I murmur, tiredness creeping up on me ever closer. I close my eyes as I feel a shift Katniss' weight. It takes me a little by surprise when I feel her lips gently pressing into mine. I place my hand on the back of head, holding her in place so I can deepen the kiss. She is mine and no-one can take that from me.

We stay this way for so long that time has lost all meaning. When she finally pulls her lips from mine, as I let out a small moan of longing, we are both breathless for more.

The tiredness has left my body, only to be replaced with an unrelenting hunger for more of the woman in my arms. I roll us both over and pin her to the ground as my tongue explores her mouth, eliciting the most delicious moans and sighs from her, and I capture every single one. I reach down between the two of us and quickly undo the zip on her pants, sliding my fingers underneath the thin cotton of her underwear, brushing past the soft curls until I find the slick wetness that shows she wants me as much as I want her. She squirms deliriously under my touch and I feel her small hands fumbling with the zipper on my pants. She groans in frustration as I take my hand away from her to help her undress me, lifting my hips so she can pull my pants and underwear down over my hips. I do the same for her and as we lie down together immediately I feel her hand close softly over my erection as she begins to stroke up and down the length. My eyes fall closed again as her thumb swirls back and forward over the head, her gentle ministrations bringing me ever closer.

I want to make her happy too, and place my fingers over that bundle of nerves at the apex of her soft inner thighs, gently circling over and over. As the pressure inside me begins to build I increase my speed on Katniss, encouraging her to do the same. I lower my fingers until I find her entrance, pushing two fingers inside while I use my thumb to circle the sweet spot that will send her to oblivion. "Peeta…" she whispers to me, "Peeta, yes…."

I keep watching her as her eyes fall shut. For a moment she looks to be in pain and she bites down on her bottom lip as every muscle in her body seems to seize up. I press my lips against hers as she shudders in my arms, greedily swallowing her moans of ecstasy. Slowly her breathing returns to normal, and she resumes her hold on me. Watching her come undone pushed me to the edge and it doesn't take long until I feel every nerve in my body catch fire, as my orgasm rides up through me like a wave, as all the anxiety and hurt turns to intense pleasure. "Katniss…. I love you," I choke out through gritted teeth as my semen spills over my stomach.

We collapse in the grass together, both of us tired and spent until we are able to catch our breath. Katniss stands first, pulling her pants back up and looking around. "What are you…?" I ask but my question is answered before I can even finish it, as she pulls a large, soft, flat leaf from a nearby plant and uses it to clean my stomach. "Sorry," I mumble, feeling my face go red.

"Don't be," she says, balling up the leaf and throwing it away.

I redress myself and lie back down, pulling her into my arms, feeling tiredness descend on me once more. I place a few languid kisses along her brow. "Thank you," I say to her. "I want to feel this way forever."

"Ok," she responds. "I can allow that."

I close my eyes and soak up the warmth of the sun.

"If you wanted to sleep, I'll watch over you," I hear her say.

"You'll do that for me?"

She places one last sweet and gentle kiss on my lips.

"Always."

* * *

**A/N – I thought Peeta deserved a little wee break from all the angst I've piled on him. And we're getting so close to the end! Thanks for reading :) **


	25. Chapter 25

The Tributes get a full twenty four respite before the gamemakers start trying to drive them together again. It is clear that the gamemakers are setting off traps not to kill but to move. Mutts move in to attack with flashing claws and teeth but at first they don't strike to kill, merely to shepherd.

The girl from District One is being chased by just such a series of mutts, large feral cats with long, vicious looking sabre teeth, driving her towards dad and Yohan who seem to be the closest tributes to her. After running blindly away from them for several minutes, crashing through the jungle until her lungs are on fire, she seems to realise that the mutts' attacks aren't deadly. She slashes out at one of the mutts, slashing its throat and grinning to herself as the mutt drops to the ground. Instead of running she decides to stand her ground. The mutts still aren't attacking to kill and at first she manages to drop one, two, three of them, one after the other.

This is not what the gamemakers intended and they send in more, only this time the mutts strike harder, faster and with much deadlier accuracy. The girl holds her own against them for a while, their bodies dropping around her but she can't keep this going forever. Finally one of the mutts breaks through her defences, sinking a long fang through the flesh of her calf. She stabs down into the top of the mutt's head, screaming in fear and agony as she does. The mutts redouble their efforts, and just as she kills the one that had bitten her, two more attack, one simultaneously plunging its fangs through the top of her arm, while another slashes its claws across her stomach.

To her credit the girl doesn't give up easily, her knife moving with almost as much speed and accuracy as it had when she first began her defence. She manages to kill four more mutts before she is entirely overcome from a mixture of exhaustion and blood loss. When one of the mutts pounces at her, its deadly fangs sinking straight into her jugular, she looks almost surprised before collapsing to the ground. The canon fires and the mutts immediately dissipate leaving her mutilated corpse lying in their wake.

'_Just three more to go,'_ I think, squeezing hold of Katniss' hand and daring to hope that perhaps dad could make it home after all.

Haymitch interrupts my musings as he drops in to a seat next to me. "Look who's back," he says, nodding his head towards the bar. I look over my shoulder and am taken aback by the sight I see. Effie has returned, and she looks terrible. Her wig is askew and unbrushed, her make-up smeared. She looks around and spies us, tottering unsteadily towards us.

"Peeta," she says, and her voice sounds tremulous, "I am so sorry for what happened to you."

"Are you?" Haymitch asks, his eyes narrowing over his glass of whisky. "Are you really? Or are you just sorry you were caught?" Effie doesn't answer immediately and this seems to confirm his suspicions. "Thought as much," he snorted. "What have they done to you anyway?"

She straightens her back and tries to look dignified as she answers. "I've been demoted for now. Until I have repaid my debts you'll have a different escort. So I…. I just came to let you know."

"See ya around sweetheart," says Haymitch, kicking his feet up on the table in front of him and leaning back.

"Effie," I say, standing up to face her. "I didn't want this. You have to know that."

She forces a smile on to her face, but it doesn't cover the sadness in her eyes. "I know Peeta. And anyway, this isn't forever. Once my debts are paid off I'll be back with you."

"How long will that take?" asks Katniss.

"Oh, not too long, I hope," she responds but she doesn't sound convinced. "And I'm sure I'll see you around in the meantime."

"What about Briar? Where is she?" I ask.

Effie doesn't answer straight away again. "I… I'm afraid I don't have any information for you, Peeta."

"Well, don't let us hold you up, princess," says Haymitch, shifting his attention back to the screens.

She smiles tightly and blinks rapidly several times before she turns on her heels and walks away from us.

"You didn't need to be so mean to her, Haymitch," I say, sitting back.

"Have you forgotten what she did to you, Peeta? Everything that you've been through happened because of her. I won't forgive her that easily. More fool you if you do."

It is with a subdued feeling that I sit back down. I run my fingers through my hair and sigh deeply. None of this should have happened at all. It wasn't Effie's fault. It was Briar's. And It was Snow's for forcing us here in the first place.

A loud crashing sound brings me back to reality. Back in the arena firebolts are falling from the sky, in another attempt to bring the tributes closer together. I watch on the edge of my seat. The finale must be coming.

All four remaining tributes duck and weave as the firebolts push them forwards towards each other. Dad physically pushes and pulls Yohan out of the way of incoming firebolts, and I find myself hoping beyond hope that one of those balls of flame hits the young boy, who is as much of a threat to dad's safety as Rafe is.

All of a sudden the flames from above cease. And it is easy to see why. Dad and Yohan crash through a clearing straight in to the path of the woman from Six. She has a pair of small throwing axes tucked in to her belt, and is carrying a third. And she looks positively deranged. She holds one of the axes up high, about to throw it, when dad shouts, "Wait! You can't! He's just a boy!"

"What about my boys back home?" she cries. "My sons! If I don't come home what will happen to them?"

"I… I don't know. But they'll be provided for, surely?"

"By who?" she cries. "Their father is dead! If I don't come home they'll have to fend for themselves! They'll be out on the streets! I have to do this. I have to!"

"I can't let you harm him, I'm sorry. He's just a child himself."

"I don't have a choice," she says, raising the axe.

Dad moves himself in front of Yohan to protect him and I blindly grasp hold of Katniss, preparing for the end to come. But instead of throwing the axe she cries out and drops it by her side. Her reason for this sudden change in behaviour soon becomes apparent as she drops to her knees and Rafe is there behind her, his cleaver protruding from her back.

"I've been waiting for this for quite some time, Mellark," he says, his voice cold and calculating. "Hope you're watching, Peeta."

"Leave my son out of this," says dad and I have never heard his voice sound so hard.

"I'll give him your regards when I see him."

"You won't be. Neither of us will."

Rafe snorts loudly. "Oh really? You think that boy's gonna win? When I kill you who's gonna protect him? It's just the two of you standing between me and victory. And really, that's as good as nothing at all."

He moves so fast it takes us all by surprise. Katniss puts her arm around me but all I am aware of is the fight on screen. Rafe moves with a flurry of blows that dad manages to side step. He tries to get him in a hold but Rafe twists out of his grasp and headbutts dad to the ground. He raises the cleaver high above his head and brings it down with all his might, but thankfully dad recovers and is able to roll to one side just at the last moment. He kicks out to the side, tripping Rafe up and he throws himself on top of the younger man, trying to wrestle control of the cleaver.

The two of them are a blur of movement, throwing punches at each other, while both keeping a tight grip on the cleaver. The body of the woman from Six hasn't been collected yet, and while dad and Rafe fight, Yohan runs to her and picks up one of her throwing axes. With dad and Rafe tumbling on the ground so much he seems unwilling to throw it; perhaps he is aware that he is not strong enough to throw it with enough force to kill, and doesn't want to offer Rafe another weapon. He creeps closer and when it looks like Rafe is about to win control he brings the axe down on his arm.

Rafe howls in pain and withdraws his arm and in the second that he does, dad throws the cleaver to one side, well out of Rafe's reach. He quickly spins Rafe around in his arms, bringing his arm around his neck and to one side of his head. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I don't want to do this." Rafe's eyes widen for just a split second before he realises what dad is about to do. In one quick, sudden movement, he snaps Rafe's head around to the side, his body falling limp on the jungle floor.

Dad sits for a moment catching his breath as the cannon fires once more. Yohan looks at him, clearly unsure of what to do next.

"Steffan?" his voice is quiet and frightened.

"It's ok," says dad, and I feel the tears welling up in my eyes as I am unable to breathe. To have made it this far, only to be denied at the last moment… "You have to do what you have to do."

Yohan looks at the axe in his tiny hands. "I can't," he says, dropping the axe to the floor.

"You have to," answers dad. "So you can go home."

"I can't!" he repeats, more urgent than before.

Dad looks at him, sadness in his eyes. "Here," he says. "I'll make sure you get back to the middle safely. I'll stay out here. They'll be bound to set off one of these infernal traps eventually. You won't have to do anything but wait for them to come and pick you up."

Yohan nods but I can see the tears in his eyes. "Thank you," he says to my dad. "I'd have died on the first night if you hadn't helped me."

"Just… make sure you live after this. Do you understand me?"

Yohan clearly can't understand the full implications of what dad means but he nods as the two of them make their way through the jungle. I feel Katniss next to me, I feel her gentle touch as her arm slides across my shoulders but she doesn't seem real right now. Nothing does. I'm vaguely aware of a glass being pressed in to my hands and of Haymitch's voice. "For the pain," he says. I look down at the amber coloured liquid, at the ripples created on the surface by my shaking hands and I know that Haymitch is right; the oblivion it offers will surely be better than the pain I'm in….

It is becoming increasingly obvious that the sponsors are becoming more and more annoyed with such an anti-climactic ending to the Quell. I hear whispers around the bar about how this isn't in the spirit of the games. Haymitch voices a worrying opinion. "His refusal to play is an act of rebellion. Snow won't allow it."

I turn my focus back to the screens, fear clouding my eyes, as I wait for goodness only knows what.

It doesn't take long. They have just made it as far as the beach when a fine red mist descends over the entire arena. Both dad and Yohan look up at the sky. "What the…." Dad's voice is low and worried. After a moment or two he shakes his head jerkily, as if trying to dislodge a fly. His eyes fly open and he shouts through gritted teeth, "Run! Get away from me!"

But Yohan is also behaving strangely; his hands ball up in to fists, his face contorted in what looks like agony. When his eyes fly open his pupils are so wide that his eyes look almost entirely black and he throws himself at my father in a blind rage. But it looks as though the red mist is having the same effect on dad; his face is so full of hate that he is entirely unrecognisable. He picks Yohan up and throws him to the ground, then brings his foot down as if to stamp on the boy's head. Yohan rolls out of the way, but immediately is back on my dad, sinking his teeth into dad's leg. In response dad brings his fist down hard on the side of the boy's face, knocking him back again.

Watching the monsters that the Capitol has created is almost as bad as watching dad sacrifice himself would have been. It feels like I'm watching something shameful and private. Dad would never want this, never in a million years, but for a moment I selfishly begin to dare to hope that he will come back to me. Whatever drug they have pumped in to the arena that has made them turn on each other has made them strong with fury, but there is no way that Yohan will be a match for my father's strength, especially without a weapon.

Yohan grabs a rock from the shoreline, and my heart stops as he slams it in to the side of dad's face, slicing a gash just below his eye from which blood pours steadily. In retaliation dad throws a punch which catches Yohan on the temple, dazing him. He grabs a fistful of Yohan's hair and slams his head to the ground again and again and again, not stopping when dark red liquid begins to pool around him, not even stopping when the cannon fires for one last time, and for a terrifying moment I have the impression of dad attacking me or one of my brothers, and the hatred I feel towards the Capitol for turning my kind, gentle father into a child murderer outweighs the relief of knowing that finally, at long last, the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games are at an end.

* * *

**A/N – I debated long and hard with myself over who I was going to let live – and in the end I decided that Steffan sacrificing himself would reek of too much rebellion for the Capitol's tastes (especially after allowing both Katniss and Peeta to live the year before), and that they simply wouldn't allow it to happen. Hence the red mist descending. And a twelve year old boy isn't going to be able to win against a full grown man in a fist fight… **

**Anyway, I'd like to thank everyone who has been following this story. There is only one more chapter to go!**


	26. Epilogue

It was well over twenty four hours after he was pulled from the arena before I was allowed to see my father. With the effects of the violence inducing red mist still working on him, he had to be tranquilised before the hovercraft could remove him safely. He was in nowhere near as bad shape as I was last year; the gash under his eye took next to no time to heal, and aside from a few other minor cuts and bruises he walked away from the arena physically relatively unscathed.

It is his mind that refuses to heal.

When I first saw him, I collapsed on him, I threw my arms around him in a hug that wasn't returned. There was no greeting, no love in his eyes, no relieved reunion. Just an empty shell of a man where once there stood my hero.

Haymitch warned him to play his part for the cameras; that his refusal to play the end of the games on the Capitol's terms would have probably put him on Snow's radar.

"I don't care," he had said. "I don't care what he does to me."

"I daresay you don't," Haymitch had said. "But I reckon you do care what he might do to your family. Am I right?"

Something lost inside him seemed to awaken briefly at Haymitch's words. "He wouldn't?"

"A man who sends twenty three kids to their death every year wouldn't use the threat of violence to make you toe the line? Sure. You just keep telling yourself that."

"What do I have to do?" His words sounded so hollow and empty.

"Thank them for the opportunity to live. Thank them for their generosity. Thank the other tributes for their sacrifice."

For the most his interview with Caesar went well. He remained humble but had lost the jovial edge from his previous interview. When they showed the recap of his highlights, the cameras closing in on young Yohan's face as the life was crushed from him, dad seized up, unable to watch what he had done, shame apparent in every line on his face. I was correct in assuming that they wouldn't be broadcasting his reaction to the highlights to the rest of Panem.

The interview then turned to the discussion of our wedding. He found it difficult to feign joy and excitement even for that; the broad smiles he wore did so little to mask the sadness in his eyes.

I knew from painful experience that returning to Twelve would not make him forget what had happened, but I had hoped it would help him come to terms with it. I was wrong. He has a house to himself in Victors Village, but I rarely see him now. Like Haymitch, he often drinks to numb the pain. I spend much of my days trying to bring him out of his shell but the man who left for the Capitol is not the same man who returned.

Mother actually had the audacity to turn up on his doorstep on his return. The Cronins threw her out after dad killed Rafe. I watched from my front steps as dad slammed the door in her face. She then came crawling back to me. After everything she did she wanted me to offer her sanctuary. I almost caved in. I almost said yes. Almost. I know she asked both Rhees and Kern as well; after they both turned her down she was forced to take a job as a cleaner in the Justice Building. She was exceptionally lucky that just such a position had come up after the previous cleaner had fallen severely ill. It is the type of work she had always thought of as beneath her. As far as I know she pays for lodgings in a small room with the Harper family who own the tailor's.

I had hoped that the Capitol would leave us alone for a while, at least until the Victory Tour so that dad might have some respite from them but we were constantly bothered by emissaries from the Capitol who wanted our opinion on ideas for our wedding. Not that our opinions counted for anything. Anything we said and suggested was duly ignored. Neither of us wanted anything extravagant. Katniss would have happily foregone any type of wedding at all.

About a month before we were wed was the Victory Tour. Dad was unsure what he could showcase as a talent; all he had ever known was how to bake, and he claimed to be too old to learn anything new now. Rhees offered to whittle him a few wooden sculptures to take with him; now the Capitol believes I have inherited my artistic talent from my father.

Dad's Victory Tour was mostly uneventful. He followed Haymitch's advice to the letter, sticking entirely to a pre-approved script in each District. It was once he reached District Five, and was face to face with Yohan's parents that he finally broke down. He was immediately ushered off the stage, the cameras stopped rolling and his prep team descended on him like vultures to quickly dry his eyes and make him camera ready once again. He shooed them away and turned to me instead.

"Peeta, help me."

I had one last ditch effort to try and bring him back. "Dad, before they… before it all ended, you said to…..him….. 'don't forget to live.' I need you to do the same."

"I killed a little boy, Peeta. I don't deserve to live."

"You didn't kill him," I said in a hushed voice so that none of the Capitol attendants or camera crews could hear. "They did. That wasn't you."

"I see his face every day."

"I know. I still see their faces too."

"But you didn't do what I did. You said it wasn't me, but it was Peeta. I could have stopped. If I'd focused harder, if I'd really tried, I could have stopped, I'm certain. It shouldn't be me here."

"Dad, please…."

He looked at me with dull, empty eyes then demanded to be taken back to the train. Our stop in District Five was cut short and dad refused to leave his room until we got to District Four, secreting himself away with a bottle of white liquor.

Once the Tour was finally over our wedding plans were thrown into full swing. The Capitol insisted on Dad being my Best Man so that even after the Tour he wasn't left alone. Hundreds of guests, most of whom we didn't know, turned out to wish us long and happy lives. Long banquet tables groaned under the vast array of food, and once again Katniss and I bore witness to the wastefulness of the Capitol citizens as they gorged themselves over and over, vanishing periodically to purge themselves and start over again.

We must have spoken to every single person in the room, and it was the early hours of the morning before the party finally began to draw to a close. We were trying to make our excuses to leave when at long last President Snow came over to speak to us.

"Congratulations, Mr and Mrs Mellark," he said, the coldness in his snake-like eyes not matching the words coming from him.

"Thank you," said Katniss, bowing her head slightly to him.

"It must certainly was a moving ceremony. Two generations of Victors in one family. I expect one day to make that three generations."

I felt Katniss grip my wrist tightly and I felt a sense of vertigo as the implications of what he said washed over me. One day he will want us to have children. And that child will, one day, be thrown in to the arena.

"One thing at a time," I said, trying to keep my voice light. "I just want to enjoy being a married man for a while before enjoying fatherhood."

"Of course. Don't allow me to keep you from your blushing bride. I trust that everything in your marital suite will be to your liking."

We had planned on having a small toasting, just the two of us, once we returned to the suite that had been provided for us, but as soon as we were alone, Katniss had become frantic. "He'll force us to have a child, and he'll take them from us!" she cried. "I can't do this!"

I wrapped her in my arms until she began to calm. I had always wanted to be a father, despite the risks. But it was no longer a risk that a child of mine could be taken. It was a predetermined fact. That my future had been decided for me tore me apart. "He can't make us. And anyway, some people _can't_ have children. Maybe we'll get lucky."

She nodded sadly, took my hand in hers and we walked slowly towards our room. "Did you still want to do our toasting tonight?" I asked her.

"I don't know," she replied. "I don't really feel like it anymore."

"We can't have this…" I looked around at our surroundings to find the right word, "…..travesty as our wedding. Please, let's just have something _normal._"

She sighed, and kissed the side of my cheek. "Of course."

We opened the door to our suite, just as an Avox was turning down our bed. "It's ok," I said. "We can take it from here."

The Avox turned around and I felt my breath catch in my throat. I knew that face, and I hated that face, and until now I hadn't known her fate. Our new Avox, the person assigned to wait on us hand and foot, was Briar. It was a cold move on the part of Snow, one designed to wrong foot us, one designed to terrify us into submission.

I had no idea how to feel at the sight of her. Fear, anger, guilt, remorse, pity, hatred, disgust… All fought for control inside me. "Get out," I hissed.

We didn't have a toasting that night. The sight of Briar had shaken me up too much, and coupled with the expectations piled on us from Snow, our wedding had ended very much on a low point. Both of us suffered nightmares that night, mine full of tongueless children screaming silent screams. We woke up, both of us covered in cold sweat, and took our comfort from each other.

It was barely a week after our wedding when the first envelope arrived. Written instructions signed from Snow himself that later that evening we would be meeting with a man named Struve Grevelle. Within the instructions was a reminder that Prim was still of reaping age, that Rhees and Kern could both very easily meet with over-zealous peacekeepers. Katniss responded with unmitigated fury, breaking everything in sight until she broke down in tears. I held her until her tears began slowly to subside, a feeling of numbness inside me swelling until I was aware of nothing else.

Struve was a middle aged man with the paunchy stomach of the terminally overfed. He smelt of stale tobacco and too much cologne. Both of us were utterly terrified when he instructed us to undress, but at first he seemed content to watch us. When he told me to stop and stand aside I wanted to protest, but Katniss whispered to me, "For Prim," and I had no choice. I watched, a hopeless feeling of impotency washing over me, as another man fucked my wife. She kept her eyes tightly closed, fisting the sheets as he pounded into her over and over again. He flipped her over and instructed me to kneel in front of her so she could take me in her mouth at the same time.

Afterwards, once we were alone, we held each other and we wept for hours. But this is our life now. We have no choice. Some clients are kinder than others. Some only want me, some only want her, and gender never seems to be a deciding factor. In the Capitol, anything goes.

As far as I can tell, dad doesn't know. He believes that lies the 'official business' we have to go to the Capitol for is modelling for advertisements because we are young and the Capitol is still obsessed with the Star-Crossed Lovers. Every day I pray that no-one ever wants to buy him. I pray that he never finds out the truth. That I helped him become a murderer by selling myself.

On a truly selfish level, at least I have Katniss by my side. After each encounter we help each other, we bring each other back to reality. We are still intimate with each other outside of the Capitol, thankfully able to separate our personal lives from the encounters forced upon us. But the knowledge of what we are subjected to is always present. All in all, my experiences in the Capitol have taught me one thing. Your life ends the moment your name comes out of the Reaping Ball. It's just that some of us forget to stop breathing.

* * *

**A/N – Thank you for reading and sticking with this story. And sorry that I couldn't give them a happier ending, but really, without the rebellion, I don't think they would have had a particularly happy ending. **

**If you want something happier (and smuttier!), please feel free to check out my fic Sabotaged Heart, which is also now complete. Thanks!**


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